


Against my Will

by Alphinss



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Arranged Marriage, Bottom Harry, Death Eaters, Emotional Manipulation, Fear, M/M, Neglect, Possessive Behavior, Sad Harry, Scared Harry, Threats of Rape/Non-Con, Virgin Harry Potter
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-18
Updated: 2018-12-02
Packaged: 2018-12-17 01:06:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 54,803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11840787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alphinss/pseuds/Alphinss
Summary: Hercules Licorus Black, or Harry, is the youngest of the Black children. His older brothers Sirius and Regulus have always ignored him and his parents have not given him a second glance. That is until they arrange a marriage between him and the Dark Lord. Harry’s life is spiralling out of his control. He’s terrified of the man that is to be his husband.





	1. Chapter 1

  
Harry’s stomach rolled, his head fuzzy and his eyes unfocused as he looked down the isle that was situated before him. He felt sick. He didn't want to do this. He did not want to be here, did not want to walk to the man that stood at the end of the walkway. However it appeared that he had no choice. He never had a choice. His life was a never-ending stream of others controlling him, or attempting to.

Hercules Licorus Black or Harry, was the youngest of three. Sirius was two and a half years older than him and Regulus was just eleven months his senior. This was not, however due to bad planning on his parent’s part. Harry may have been unplanned, but his mother’s pregnancy had begun in mid-December. With all going well Harry should have been born mid-September, putting him at a year and a few weeks younger than Regulus. However things had not gone to plan.

Harry had been born premature; very premature. He had been born five weeks early and had weighed only four pounds. He had been tiny; too small to eat, breath or stay warm without the help of spells. Harry had been in the hospital for five weeks before being released into the comfort of his own home. However it had taken him even longer to regain his strength and health than those five weeks.

Harry’s childhood had been difficult. Having been born so prematurely he had been a fragile child, unable to participate in many of the normal activities for a child his age. He had difficulty breathing and eating large amounts of food at a time. He was always told what to wear, what to eat and where to go. He was too weak for many things. His mother simply dismissing his attempts to act as a normal boy should.

This lead to his exclusion from many of the activities that his brothers had participated in. He was mocked and bullied by his two older brothers for being smaller and more fragile in all respects. His size was significantly smaller than both Regulus and Sirius, by the age of eleven being only four feet two inches, in comparison to Regulus’ five feet one. He was the smallest in the year by a large amount.

The rest of the family was no help. His father was distant, his working keeping him busy almost every waking hour. His mother was vicious; the woman’s only concern being for the Black family legacy. Although most of her attention was focused on Sirius, he being the heir to the Black name. However that did not mean that she would not tell him to do. Harry’s cousins were no better. Beatrix mocked him, Narcissa looked down on him and Andromeda simply ignored him.

The only member of the family that Harry had a remote connection to was his father’s mother, his grandmother, Melania Black. The woman listened to his troubles, she paid him attention and she treated him like a person. However the woman rarely visited; her trips to the Black household being only at Christmases and Birthdays.

This lead to him finding solace in the one place that would not reject him; the library. Harry spent a lot of his childhood camping out in the Black library, hidden in corners, curled up with a book. The library was place that Sirius avoided and although Regulus frequented it, he did not know all the hiding spots that Harry did. Due to the fact that Harry was small, fitting into those tight spaces, was easier for him then for any of the other members of the family. His mother didn't seem to care if he was in there either, knowledge was power after all. The learning was one of the very few things that she approved of.

His family had ignored him further as he had become a Ravenclaw at the age of eleven, after ignoring Sirius as he had become a Gryffindor. Regulus had become the only child that now seemed to matter in the Black family. He was now the heir. He was the only one that anyone needed, the only one that had any expectations to live up to. His mother had forced Harry’s silence at family gatherings and his disappearance from many of their minds. However that had all changed when he had come home from his sixth year.

Harry had reentered his house for the first time in months, a few steps behind Regulus. At sixteen he was still small, his height only just reaching five feet. His hair was jet back and ruffled about his head. The mess, one of the only things that ever drew the attention of his family. Negatively of course. His green eyes sparkled, although they were hidden behind a pair of expensive tortoise shell glasses. They were the most expensive thing that he owned; a present from his grandmother for his thirteenth birthday.

However, rather than retreating to the library, as he would have usually done, he was halted in his tracks. His name was called and he was led, by both mother and father to the kitchen.

“Hercules” his father had said solemnly. Harry flinched, repressing the look of disgust that wanted to creep onto his face. He disliked the name. Harry was a much preferred title. However he looked to the imposing figure that stood before him with a raised brow and a small nod.

“A situation has arisen that your mother and I believe we should inform you of” the man’s voice never changed in pitch, each word intentional and direct. “I believe you should sit down for this.” Orion Black indicated to the dining room table, before placing himself in his designated seat. Harry soon followed. He sat across from his father, his eyes looking away from the hard face. The man then spoke the words that changed Harry’s life forever.

“We have arrange a marriage for you Hercules. With a Mr Tom Marvolo Riddle”

That was How Harry found himself standing before a crowd of people, ready to walk down to the man that stood at the other end, his father by his side. The man, non-other than the Dark Lord Voldemort. Harry thought that he was going to be sick. Harry’s father clutched his arm tightly. Harry was unsure whether it was a support or a constraint. However Harry was sure that he would run away if he was given half a chance.

Harry was dressed to impress. His hair was, for once, neatly styled. It had been cut earlier that day, so that it gently framed his face. It was a silky black curtain that fell to just above his shoulders, layered gently, creating a soft and delicate appearance to his figure. Intricate robes fitted tightly to his small form, white the predominant colour. They hung to mid thigh, white leggings being worn underneath them. The black crest was emblazoned on the back of the robes, the motto of the Black family, ‘Toujours Pur’ in bold black letters underneath. Harry’s glasses were gone, revealing the fearful green eyes for the world to see. The tortoise shell frames were securely held in Harry’s pockets, ensuring that Harry would be able to see when the service finished.

Harry was reluctantly pulled down the isle by his father, refusing to look at the man. He had not taken this arranged marriage well. Harry’s eyes darted away from the people that lined the seats; Sirius, Regulus, his mother, his cousins, his teachers, his friends. The service was a public one. One that was meant to represent love but in truth represented only servitude. Voldemort wanted to declare to the world that he had one of the most powerful families in the world under his thumb and there was nothing anyone could do about it. Not even the great Albus Dumbledore could save Harry from the fate that he was walking toward.

As Harry reached the end of his walk his eyes flickered up without his consent, taking in the man that was to be his husband. Harry was shocked at what he saw. Unlike him the man’s robes were all black, apart from the glittering green Slytherin crest that was situated on the back of the material. The man may be fifty-one but he certainly did not look it. He seemed to look more like he was in his early thirties. He had black hair, equally as dark as Harry’s that thick and full on his head. His eyes were a chocolate brown and seemed to sparkle with slight disdain at Harry’s small figure. Harry flinched at the look, his eyes skittering from the handsome man.

The words were rushed and Harry barely listened to them, his thoughts far too jumbled for him to pay attention. However as he heard his name he was snapped back to attention.

“Do you Hercules Licorus Black take Tom Marvolo Riddle to be your bonded husband?” there was a pause. Harry blinked, not fully taking in the words that were being said. He could feel all eyes on him, the brown of the man before him, burning into his frozen form.

“Y-y-yes. I do” he finally managed to choke out. Tears threatening to spill down his face as he felt himself throw away his life. He would never be free again. He had lost any control. He was never going to have any say in what he did. He was a prisoner in all but name.

“Do you Tom Marvolo Riddle take Hercules Licorus Black to be your bonded husband?” The response was almost instantaneous.

“I do” the words came with no emption, flat and unfeeling.

Harry could only watch as the Dark Lord took the dagger from the priest. He quickly sliced the blade across his forearm, blood blooming to the surface. He then handed the dagger to Harry. Harry ran the dagger along his own arm, the cut jagged as his hands shook.

The Dark Lord extended his arm his eyes on Harry, demandingly. Harry extended his arm, shakes running through the slim arm. A firm hand griped his forearm, just below his elbow. Harry felt the bloods mingle, the rot red liquid from both veins mixing with one another.

“Love to love, life to life, Blood to blood” the priest chanted. Light lit up between the two, their blood shimmering with white as the bond was created. “I now pronounce you bonded. Husband and husband. You may kiss” the priest finished.

Harry froze as he heard the words spoken. He was terrified. The Dark Lord leaned forward. He lifted the now healed arm to Harry’s cheek, his pale hand sending tingles through Harry’s skin. The other hand dragged Harry forward, his face coming closer to that of the Dark Lord. Harry shuddered as the older man brought his head forward. Their lips met.

The kiss was short; little more than a brush. Yet it promised more. Harry felt fear engulf him. Utter terror filling each crevice of his mind. As the Dark Lord pulled back tears found their way into his eyes, slowly trickling down his face. This was not how he had imagined his wedding day. Harry had wanted to marry for love. He had always longed for acceptance, to be a part of whoever it was that he was with. He wanted love. Something that he had never had before. It seemed his dreams were for nothing. He was nothing more than a pawn.

The service ended; Harry was forced from person to person, each bidding him luck and congratulations. An indefinite amount of time passed and Harry found himself seated at the head table, the Dark Lord by his side. Dried tear tracks still marred his otherwise perfect face as the evening continued.

Harry kept his eyes downcast as people approached the table at which he sat. Celebrations were in full swing, people having far too much wine, even before the food arrived. The Dark Lord stood as time ticked by, speaking to the gathered people.

“Please be seated” the tone was commanding even if the wording was a request. “Food shall shortly be served.” the man seated himself back, next to the unresponsive Harry. Several minutes later, when everyone was seated, food appeared before both men at the table. Harry ignored it.

“Hercules” the tone was stern and intimidating. Harry looked up to see the dark brown eyes on him. Harry’s breath left him and all he could do was give a small nod of recognition to his new husband and bond mate. The thought itself was a terrifying one.

“I believe it best if you eat” the tone was not soft or kind, but merely matter of fact. “You’ll be needing the energy.” With that the eyes retreated and the Dark Lord went back to eating his own meal.

Harry spent the rest of the meal picking at the food. He had no appetite but he still felt the need to eat. The Dark Lord had told him to. He had little choice but to do as told. He did not wish to suffer torture before his first married day had ended.

The rest of the night passed rapidly, Harry avoiding everyone, keeping his mouth shut and his eyes downcast. He had been though enough today. He did not feel he needed to engage in communication with anyone. However that only meant that the moment that he dreaded approached more rapidly. The Dark Lord stood.

“Thank you everyone for attending this joyous occasion” the smile was fake ,the voice was fake. Harry found himself wondering if there was anything real about this man. “However I feel that it is time for my husband and I to retire.” The Dark Lord’s tone left no room argument.

The only comments from the crowd were murmurs of agreement, wishes of luck and bidding of farewell. The Dark Lord ignored them as he turned to Harry.

“Hercules” he extended his hand. “Let’s go”


	2. Chapter 2

Harry’s body froze, his heart clenching and his muscles tensing as he arrived in a mansion that he did not recognise. He could, however, take in none of his surroundings, his only focus on the man that stood with his wrist clasped in his cold fingers. He was dragged through the corridors by the hard hand, the fingers wrapped tightly and pulling insistently. Harry’s heart was in his mouth, his breath coming faster than was normal, faster than any human’s breath had a right to be coming. 

Harry was pulled into a room, the door shutting finally behind him. His breathing quickened further. Hitches and irregular gulps came as tears began to fill the green eyes. Harry felt sick. His muscles clenched before relaxing, before clenching again in a rapid cycle. He did not want to do this, he did not want to do this. The mantra repeated on a loop in his head. 

Harry felt the hand release him only to quickly tingle across other parts of his person. The hands reached for the buttons on Harry’s robes and the young man could no longer hold back the tears that threatened to spill down his face. He attempted to keep the whimpers at bay as the robes were pushed from his shoulders; his bare chest revealed to the cold room.

A hand clasped each shoulder and pushed Harry toward the large double bed that was situated behind him. Harry’s knees shook as they hit the back of the bed. They crumpled as he was pushed down. A shudder shock his form as his back hit the sheets. Harry dared a glance as the Dark Lord stood above him, the man’s eyes were roaming over his small form. 

Harry felt a weight settle upon him, legs either side of his hips. The man above him lent down ensnaring Harry’s lips with his own. Harry could do nothing as the tears streamed harder down his face, pooling on the skin. He was frozen in place. The Dark Lord used one hand to pin Harry’s hands above his head as he deepened the kiss. 

The other hand ran down Harry’s side, the long fingers causing Harry to gasp. A tongue was forced into the gap that Harry had opened. The hot tongue pushing its way into Harry’s mouth. Harry attempted to focus every thought on not biting the invader in his mouth. He could do nothing more than that. He knew if his concentration were to slip for a second his tongue would clamp down on the muscle forcing its way into his mouth. 

Harry felt hands continue to run up and down his sides, the fingers running along his ribs. Harry’s eyes continued to stream as he felt a digit stroke over his nipple. His breath hitched and a choke forced its way from the throat, muffled by the Dark Lord’s lips.

The Dark Lord released Harry’s lips, moving along Harry’s jaw, lightly littering kisses along Harry’s jaw. Harry let out a whimper, hot tears trickling from his eyes. His mouth found its way to Harry’s neck. His teeth captured the skin just below Harry’s ear. He sucked on the skin harshly, the blood blooming to the surface of the skin before the Dark Lord moved to his next point. 

Releasing Harry’s hands and neck the Dark Lord made his way down Harry’s chest, kissing and licking the expanse of skin. He took one of Harry’s nipples in his mouth, his teeth clenching down on the delicate skin. He let his tongue find its way into Harry’s belly button, twisting the pink muscle in the small hole. The only accompaniment to this was Harry’s whimpers, moans and groans as the Dark Lord took control over his body. 

The Dark Lord brought his hands up to either side of Harry’s hips, pulling down the white leggings that remained on Harry’s form. He threw the leggings on the floor before removing his own clothing. He pulled off his robes and shirt, before pulling off his own trousers, leaving both men only in their underwear. 

Harry looked at the man above him and flinched at the hungry brown eyes. His breathing sped up and his heart hammered harder as the hands regained their position on his hips. Lips covered his again and Harry began to panic. Fingers curled around the waistband, pulling down the last line of protection that Harry had. 

Harry could no longer stop the words that spilled from his lips, nor the actions that the his muscles dictated that he take. He pushed the man back, their lips disconnecting. 

“No, no, no” spewed from Harry’s lips, more tears streaming. “no please no” he begged. His voice was weak and his face pale. 

The chocolate brown eyes looked down at Harry’s pathetic form. Harry curled in on himself as much as he could, continuing to mutter ‘no’ repeatedly as he attempted to hide away from the scrutiny of his husband. His eyes scurried away, tears still streaming from them. He therefore did not see the look of anger and disgust that graced the Dark Lord’s face in an unattractive grimace. 

The man pulled off the young boy below him, his form graceful even in his position. Harry let out a gasp; a mixture of shock and relief filling him as the man removed himself from Harry’s chest. His watery eyes looked up to the retreating form of his new husband. 

“Go to sleep Hercules” the deep voice commanded “I’m going to have a shower.” With that the man left the room, pulling the door open, to what Harry assumed was the bathroom. Harry lay for several seconds, panting and attempting to pull his thoughts together. What the fuck was going on?

Harry’s head was a mess, his thoughts spinning out of his control. He pushed himself up off the bed, looking down at his disheveled form, he shivered. The Dark Lord’s intention had been obvious. He had planned to consummate the marriage. To become fully bonded. What had made the man change his mind? What was it that had made him make such a total u-turn? 

Harry gave a glance to the bathroom as he stood from the bed, water audible through the walls. It appeared the Dark Lord was actually taking a shower. Something so normal from a man such as he was may be the most baffling thing of the day. However that may have just been down to the fact that Harry’s mind was nothing more than mush at that current moment. He didn't think that he could take anymore surprises today. 

Harry wondered over to the large walk-in-wardrobe that lined one wall. He let the doors swing open to reveal both his own clothes and those of the Dark Lord. Harry scuttled over to the left side where his clothes were located. There were significantly less of them then of the Dark Lords, but he was glad that someone had thought forward enough to send them. Even more grateful that they had been placed somewhere easily accessible. He would have been shocked if not for the fact that he was far too exhausted to have such emotions.

Harry scurried forward. He rapidly pulled a pair of pyjamas from a hanger. Harry tugged off the white boxers that were damp with sweat. He quickly pulled on the pyjamas, covering his exposed body as quickly as he could. 

As Harry pulled the shirt over his head he got stuck. He attempted to pull his head through the sleeve, his arm coming out through the head hole. Harry’s emotional stability being at an all time low he was unable to deal with this fact. With his head still in his shirt and his arms in a mess above his head he let out a sob. 

His knees thudded to the floor as his breath hitched again. He was blinded by both his shirt and his own tears as he could do little more than let the emotions of the day consume him. The fear, the loneliness, the anger; they all piled up upon him, hitting him like a train. His sobbing was loud and debilitating as Harry remained in his pathetic position. 

Harry was unsure how long it was that he knelt on the floor. However he was drawn from the spiral of emotion that he was trapped in by a hand on his arm. Harry froze, all movements halted as he felt the hand touching the exposed skin. He let himself be moved, his arm pushed back through the shirt before it was pulled over his head, sitting on Harry in the correct position. 

Harry was shocked. His eyes were wide as they met with the pyjama clad Dark Lord that stood before him, a scowl on his face. 

“Go to bed Hercules” the man said. There was no malice in the words, but no kindness either. It was simply a matter of fact statement; an order. 

“Y-y-yes My Lord” Harry mumbled, his hands pushing to him from the floor. His arms as weak as his shaking legs as he went toward the bed. 

Harry spent the rest of the night slipping in and out of restless sleep. He felt the bed dip, waking him from the light slumber an unknown time after he himself had been forced into the bed. Harry stayed as still as he could, barely daring to breath as he felt the man lay behind him. 

Somehow Harry managed to fall asleep. His brain switched off without him even realising it, the stress of the day finally catching up with him. His dreams were of angry faces. Friends and family disgusted by his predicament. Harry had not been able to talk to anyone about the events that had occurred that day. He had been forbidden from sending letters to anyone for the month that he had been housebound. He had also not seen anyone other than his mother, father and Kreacher in that time. He was therefore utterly in the dark about what anyone thought of these arrangements. However his assumptions led him all to anger. 

Harry woke the next day, feeling some sense of calm as his eyes fluttered open. He felt more at ease than he had done in the past month. His heart was not pounding, his stomach was not churning and his eyes did not burn with the unshed tears of a nightmare. Harry felt peaceful. 

However the feeling did not last long. Harry looked over to see a sleeping Dark Lord right before his eyes. His heart jumped into his throat, thumping erratically as he saw the closed eyes. Harry attempted to scramble from the bed, as delicately as possible, striving not to wake the Dark Lord on the bed next to him. However he was unsuccessful. His sudden movements caused the man on the bed beside him to open an eye.

Harry watched, breath held, as the man sat up. Even with his disheveled hair and sleep clothes, the man was still intimidating. The potential of what the man had to do was the thing that Harry feared the most. However the Dark Lord said nothing. He stood from the bed, a glance to Harry as he righted himself. 

“Breakfast will be in thirty minutes Hercules. I suggest you ready yourself.” Harry gave a hesitant nod before scurrying toward the walk-in-wardrobe. He rapidly gathered his things, pulling a pair of robes, underwear, socks, trousers and a shirt into his arm, before he almost ran to the bathroom, slamming the door behind him. He finally let out a breath as his back rested on the closed door. 

Harry spent the next fifteen minutes showering, dressing and making himself look presentable, ready to attend breakfast with his new husband.He attempted to cover the bruises that littered his neck as well as he could, but they were too numerous and too dark for him to do anything about them. Therefore Harry stepped from the bathroom, fully dressed except for shoes, several dark bruises still clearly visible. 

The room before him was empty and Harry found himself relieved at that fact. He did not wish to see the man now. In fact he never wished to see him again. Harry rushed through the room, wanting to be ready before the Dark Lord returned. He placed his neatly folded pyjamas underneath the pillow that was his own as of last night, ready for another night of use. He then proceeded to make the bed neatly, pulling the sheets and straightening the duvet. With one finally hand smoothing over the cover, he began to investigate where to find his shoes. They were situated at the bottom of the wardrobe where Harry slipped them on his feet. 

With nothing else to do Harry looked around the room, investigation more than he had last night. Harry had always been curious, it was a weakness of his. However unlike his oldest brother he was discreet about it. Sirius was loud and boisterous. Finding secret passages and hidden locations in the school was a specialty of his, however he told anyone that asked where they were. He liked to get credit for his discoveries, just as he liked credit for his pranks. Harry, however, was much more secretive. Harry had discovered rooms that the marauders had never dreamed of. 

So when Harry saw a door that had gone unnoticed by him last night there was little he could do but take a look. It seemed that some of the fear had leaked out of him. He was too exhausted to be scared. His emotions had drained from him, the stress of the last month leaving an empty feeling. Therefore when a remotely positive emotion entered his mind, he clung to it like a drowning man to a life ring. It grew in his mind quickly; a weed that had finally been given water. It grew until Harry could think of nothing else. Consequences seemed to be of no concern. Death seemed of no concern. Harry was sick of being scared. 

Harry pushed the door open, a smile gracing his face as he was met with no resistance. It was the first smile that Harry had had since he had returned from school at the end of the year. Harry crept into the room that appeared to be an office. From his position in the doorway he could see bookcases lining the back wall; ones that Harry longed to look at. He wanted to loose himself in the knowledge that the books were sure to hold. 

However as Harry made his way around the corner, able to see the full extent of the room, he froze. Sitting at a large and elegant desk sat the one and only Dark Lord, a letter in his hands. Harry slowly back tracked, attempting to make his way back from the room, praying that the man had not seen him. He had. 

“Hercules” the harsh drawl came from his new husband’s lips. Harry froze, fear returning to him in full force. He didn't know what had possessed him to enter an unknown room. Stupid, stupid, stupid. How could he have been so stupid?

This man may have granted him some leniency last night. He may have stopped when Harry was at his most vulnerable. However that was no guarantee of anything. This man was a Dark Lord. He tortured people for fun. He killed people without a second glance. 

The Dark Lord placed his letter down on the wood, before standing up and making his way toward Harry. 

“I don’t object to you entering my office” the man’s face was neutral, although Harry felt he was being scalded, a small child being informed of his wrongdoing. “However I do object to you not announcing your arrival” the man raised a brow at the much smaller man before him. “I may have some rather…unpleasant guests present and your presence would be…ill-advised at such times.” 

“Yes my Lord” Harry mumbled, his eyes skirting away from the piercing brown eyes. 

The Dark Lord gave a satisfied nod. Happy with Harry’s answer. 

“Come then Hercules, let us go to breakfast” The Dark Lord extended his arm. Harry crept forward, reluctantly resting his arm atop his husbands. He was lead through yet another door and toward breakfast. 

Harry was led into the dining hall, his arm still gently resting on the Dark Lord’s. Harry followed closely behind his husband, to the head of the table. The Dark Lord sat and Harry quickly took the seat to his right, that he assumed was his own. It seemed he was right as the man gave a hum of approval. 

The rest of the room was filled with numerous people, many of which Harry assumed had spent the night after the late finish of the wedding celebrations. Harry’s eyes flickered nervously to those sitting around the large table; all of whom were looking at Harry and the very visible marks on his neck. It seemed that Sirius had left the celebrations earlier than his parents and Regulus; the three sitting at one side of the table. 

His father’s face was stoic, his eyes hard as he looked at his son. He was unreadable. Harry was unable to tell what the man was feeling. His mother was, however, far more transparent. The smile that lit up her face as she looked at her son was clear. It spoke of pride but also self-importance. Harry could see in the look that she was satisfied to have a son who was married to the Dark Lord. It gave her power and a bragging right. It gave her something to hold over other people. He was finally a useful asset to his mother. 

Regulus however was utterly different. His emotions were as clear as his Mother’s, however they were the polar opposite. Regulus looked at Harry with hatred glittering in his eyes. It was angry and vicious hatred that seemed to boil under the surface. Harry did not like the look as it was directed at him. He turned his eyes away from the vicious grey. 

Harry didn't want to eat, couldn't eat with the all eyes that were watching his every move. If he took a single bite of the food in front of him then he taught he may be sick everywhere. He only sank lower and lower in his seat as the minutes ticked by. Finally when he felt that he would soon be on the floor the Dark Lord stood. 

“Bellatrix” the Dark Lord said, looking to Harry’s slightly insane cousin.

“Yes My Lord” she chirped happily, willing to do anything for the man that she admired more than anything. She worshiped him. 

“Take Hercules and show him around the manor. I have business to attend to.” With that the man walked from the hall, leaving Harry to the mercies of his family, the Death Eaters and his insane cousin. Bellatrix stood with a bright grin and skipped over to Harry. 

“Come on little Hercules” she said with an insane grin. She gripped his hand tightly and dragged him from the hall. She spent the next half an hour showing Harry all of the rooms in the manor; from the kitchens to the Death Eater meeting rooms. The final room he was shown was one that Harry had been longing to see, the library. 

However as they entered the majestic room, with tall celling and overflowing with books, a look adorned his cousins’ face that he did not want to see. A manic grin, an evil glint her eyes. She drew the wand from under her robes. Before Harry had time to grip his own wand his cousin muttered a spell. 

Red light shot from her wand and hit Harry square in the chest. Pain like he had never felt before ripped through him. Each nerve screamed in agony, matching the screams that forced their way from Harry’s own mouth. He writhed on the floor, the screams the only sound he could make as he attempted to beg for mercy. 

Finally the spell was lifted. Harry lay panting on the floor, small whimpers escaping him without his permission. His eyes were wet with tears that were equally as unwanted. Bellatrix’s laughter accompanied Harry’s pained moans. 

“You may have taken him from me” she screeched in anger “but he will never love him.” She spat the words out, loathing clear in every syllable, before turning on her heel and marching from the room. 

Harry could only lay there, the pain still rippling through his form. Any movement that he made sent shooting pains through each and every muscle in his body. Harry didn't know how long it took him, but he finally managed to pull himself up onto one of the chairs that were littered through the library. He dragged himself across the floor, collapsing every few seconds to draw breath. As he sat, panting, pain still ran through his body with each gulp of air the he took. Each part of his body was shaking, his muscles still protesting at the agony that they had been put through. Harry didn't think that he would ever feel normal again. 

“Hercules” a voice called from the set of double doors that marked the entrance to the room. Harry looked up to see the Dark Lord standing majestically. His face was hard, the look in his eyes one that dared him to disobey. 

“Come. We are going to lunch” he ordered. Harry’s eyes widened in panic at the order. There was no way that he could stand, let alone walk. Harry set his hands on the chair and attempted to push himself up from his precarious position on his chair. However his arms only wobbled, his nerves still protesting to the any movement that he made. 

“Hercules” the Dark Lord growled out. His tone dangerous. He stepped toward the young man. Harry, however, was still unable to move. The closer the man got, the more fear rippled through his mind. Shakes were beginning to rip through Harry’s body, the pain tripling as he forced the muscles to move. Harry clenched his teeth through the pain, tears beginning to form as still tried to force his protesting muscles into standing. He couldn’t. 

The Dark Lord was there soon enough. His dark eyes filled with anger. His hand bunched Harry’s robes, pulling the dead weight up off the chair. He pushed Harry backward, slamming his already sore muscles into one of the book cases. Harry had to suppress a scream. 

“You will not disobey me Hercules.” The man growled out. His other hand came up to tighten around Harry’s neck, cutting off his air supply. “You are mine. I can do what I like with you when I like.” his voice was vicious and his eyes glinted with murderous intent. His grip tightened and Harry began to panic, his body attempting to thrash away from the hand that cut off his air supply. However it was useless. The man only held firm and continued to talk. 

“You will do as I say” each syllable punched through the air, an order, a demand. Harry had trouble concentrating on the words though, as his need for oxygen overwhelmed him. His vision began to blur, black spots overtaking his vision. 

Just as Harry thought that he would pass out; that his life would be over, the Dark Lord let him go. Harry dropped to the floor like a rock, his body thumping harshly against the hard wooden floor. However he didn't care. As he lay there, gulping in large lungfuls of air all he could think of was the relief that he was still alive. 

“I assume you’ll be ready for dinner.” the man said with a sneer before leaving an agonised Harry on the floor. 

Harry couldn't raise the energy to watch the man go. Instead being able to only drag breaths in through his battered throat. His muscles screaming in agony at any movement. Harry found himself wishing that the man had just killed him. At least he wouldn't have to live through this pain. At least he didn't have to fear every step he took. At least he would be free.


	3. Chapter 3

Harry didn't know how long it was that he lay there. It could have been hours it could have been seconds. It didn't matter. All that he knew was that pain was his constant companion. It filled every though, every part of his mind. Every crevice he thought that he had kept protected were filled with agony. He couldn't move, could barely breath. All he knew was pain.

“What ya doin?” a voice drawled, interrupting Harry from the pain. He couldn't look up. The only response he could give was a low moan that cased further pain to ignite in his throat. His head began to swim as the suffering became too much to bare.

Harry felt hands on him, pulling him from his crumpled position on the floor. Even as Harry’s vision became hazy he could still make out the form of a man kneeling before him.

“Oh I see” the man said with a grin that Harry could not see. “An overdose of the cruciatus, it would seem.” The man rummaged through the scruffy robes that covered his muscular figure. “You must be new” he said with a small chuckle, before handing uncorking the vial that he’d removed from his robes.

“Bottoms up. This should help.” he said as he pressed the vial to Harry’s lips. Harry, with very few other options, let the potion slip down his throat. Even if it did kill him, at least his suffering would be over. However even as this thought crossed his mind he began to feel better. The shakes stopped, his muscles ceasing their endless screams of pain. Harry’s head slumped back, his exhaustion catching up to him. However for the first time his vision was clear. He could take in the appearance of the man that now knelt before him.

The first thing Harry noticed were the large scars that marred the man’s face. Several ran the length of it, from hairline to chin, while other smaller ones littered his cheeks, nose and forehead. However beneath the scars Harry made a note of the fact that the man was still rather good looking. His face was that of a thirty year old, the blue eyes filled with experience and knowledge. Harry could tell his life had not been an easy one. The man was made to look older by the silver hair that littered both his head and his face. His beard was ragged, his hair tied back in a messy pony tail. Harry’s eyes were drawn to the pink lips as he spoke again.

“It never feels better, but you learn to carry some of these babies about with you. They’ll fix you up in no time” Harry could only nod, wide eyed at the man before him. “Fenrir by the way.” the man said with a wolfish grin. “First time?” the question was clear, but the twinkle in the man’s eyes and the tone of voice lead Harry to see that the man was joking with him.

It was refreshing. Harry had not had a normal conversation with anyone in what felt like years. The only thing talked about had been the wedding. The impending doom that had been the only thing he could think of. It was nice to hear words that weren't about Lord Voldemort and Harry’s role as his husband.

“Harry” Harry managed to croak out in response. He thrust his hand out. He had been brought up with manners; ones that he could not rid himself of, no matter the situation. The man before him grinned. Taking the hand in his own. He pulled the boy up. His hand steadying Harry’s tottering feet.

“Come on then Harry. You look like you could use a drink”

* * *

The rest of the evening followed as awkwardly as the previous one had. Harry had, however, cared less about that, due to the warm fuzzy feeling that had encompassed him. Fenrir had taken Harry for a walk in the forest, occasionally handing Harry the bottle of fire whiskey, laughing at the disgusted look that graced Harry’s features with each sip that he took. Harry, having eaten nothing, was quite heavily effected by the alcohol. He had spent several hours with Fenrir, laughing at nothing, attempting to sing and dance, badly, around the trees, as well as attempting to climb some of them. Fenrir’s grinning face had egged Harry on.

By the time Harry had returned to the manor and entered the dining hall his head was slightly clearer, the walk having sobered him up some. However he was still feeling unsteady, his mind swimming slightly, not fully connected with reality. He sat at the table, ignoring the man that sat by his side. Harry was more interested in the food before him. For the first time in weeks Harry actually felt hungry. He rapidly wolfed down the food on his plate, followed by the dessert.

Harry then followed his husband as the man returned to his bedroom. However, unlike that morning, there was no physical contact. Instead Harry was forced to trail after the Dark Lord. This must be what it felt like to be a minion. Harry skirted around the Dark Lord, managing to avoid speaking any words to the man as he made his way into the shower. Harry’s alcohol idled mind encouraged the notion that sleep was his mani concern. Harry shrugged off his robes, letting them fall to the floor before he slumped onto the bed. His eyes were closed before his head hit the pillow and soon soft snores filled the room.

Harry woke the next morning to a darkened room, his head was thrumming, a dull pain radiating throughout. His neck hurt with every breath that he took and Harry’s muscles ached. It was not a pain, but the feeling you get after strenuous exercise. A feeling that makes you walk funny and causes you to wince at random intervals.

However it seemed that it was still early. The Dark Lord still lay beside him, his back to Harry. Harry gave a sigh, it seemed that the pain was too much for him to get back to sleep. Much more quietly than yesterday he made his way from the bed. This time he did not wake up the man, his husband, that lay beside him. Harry looked down at his fully clothed form and winced. He didn't think that he’d ever fallen asleep fully clothed before.

He quietly crept toward the wardrobe, stripping off his clothes and dumping them into the laundry basket. Dressed just in his boxers Harry pulled the wardrobe door open and crept inside. With only little light to guide his actions Harry slipped off his boxers before quickly pulling on a fresh pair. He pulled on whatever clothes he could find, wincing at the rapid movements. He was sure that the clothes didn't match. He was certain that he did not care.

Harry dumped his underwear on top of the rest of his dirty clothes. He made his way toward the door. He needed to get out of this room. The atmosphere was stifling, the tension in every muscle. Harry was sure part of the pain he was feeling was merely from the pressure of being in the Dark Lord’s company. Even if the man was asleep.

The door opened without a sound and Harry crept through the small gap that he had created, before closing the door behind him. A slight click was the only sound that could be heard as Harry made his way down the corridor.

Harry took his wand from his holster casting a tempus before him. The numbers flashed before him in bright white lights, casing Harry’s tired eyes to squint.

‘5.15’ the numbers read. Harry let out a sigh as he read the numbers. It really was far too early to be awake. Harry continued to walk aimlessly along the corridors, down sets of stairs, passing darkened windows and closed door. Harry soon found himself outside, the sun was rising over the horizon; the light of a new day banishing away the darkness of the old one. For an inexplicable reason it made Harry feel better. Even through the pain that radiated through his body, through the fear, the pain, the worry, the heartbreak; he still managed to feel better. Harry could feel the damp grass beneath his bare feet, he could feel the sunlight on his pale face. He felt better.

Harry continued his walk; uncaring of the mud that covered his feet. He set one foot in front of the other and carried on his trail, walking with no end in mind. He walked into the forest, his feet becoming nicked by rocks and thorns, his hair collecting twigs and his arms becoming numb from the cold air. But he didn't care. A smile was on his face. It refused to move.

Harry didn't know how long he had walked. However after an indefinite amount of time he reached something that disturbed his silent footsteps. A group of people were gathered around a fire, talking, cooking and warming themselves around the pit that was submerged in the ground. Harry watched in fascination as the orange, yellow and red sparked. His feet moved without his consent; his eyes drawn into the twinkling lights that shimmered several paces away.

However as Harry neared the wave of heat, the voices stopped. All the eyes were on him, watching with suspicion as his bare feet padded toward them. Harry continued. His mind was too empty, his thoughts too suppressed. He felt nothing; not the wet of the grass on his feet, or the cold breeze that rushed past his cold arms. He didn't feel the fear that should have been rushing through him. The desire to run far from these unknown foes was absent. Harry only felt numb. Although even that was a feeling that was slipping away the longer he walked.

Harry sat by the fire, ignoring the looks that were directed at him promising pain. All he could focus on were the flickering lights. They were beautiful.

“What are you doing here boy?” a venomous voice spat out. Harry didn't look up. His eyes focusing only on the flames. It was obviously not the right thing to do. With a growl echoing through the clearing Harry was thrown to the floor. A set of hands were on his shoulders, legs pinning his own down. Harry still didn't look up. His head hit the floor and his eyes instantly sought out the dancing orange, watching as it trickled into an angry red.

Another voice interrupted the rant that the man above Harry was spewing.

“Silas. Get off him.” A quiet voice called out. However, no matter the volume, the voice was still filled with authority. Harry continued to watch the fire, taking little note as the weight of the man above him was removed. However soon his eyes were dragged from the flame, just as his body was.

Harry’s body was forced into a sitting position. His chin was grasped in a rough hand and Harry forced his eyes to look up to the man before him.

“Harry. What are you doing here?” A scarred face met Harry’s eyes. The familiar face seemed to snap Harry out of the exile from reality that had overtaken him. Harry’s smile returned as he saw the man before him.

“Fenrir” Harry said softly. “How did I get here?” his head was still fuzzy. His memories were unclear. He felt as though he had been underwater and was only now coming up to breath. Water had clogged his airways, his ears, his eyes. He was only just now starting to clear his senses. He was only now managing to realise how close he had been to drowning.

A huffed laugh was all that answered Harry’s question. Fenrir slumped next to Harry with a thump, his arm resting Harry’s shoulders.

“You really are green kid” the man chuckled. “How old are you anyway?” he queried. Harry looked up into the blue eyes. The question was clear in them, but also a tingle of concern. It flittered at the edges of the man’s vision. A light in the corner of his eye that seemed to dance away right before you saw it. It was the first genuine concern that Harry had seen in a long time. It was a look that did not promise pain or manipulation.

“Seventeen” Harry managed to choke out. His eyes only just holding back the tears. No one had ever looked at him like this before. People never gave even the slightest inkling that they cared. This man did. This man cared.

“Shit” was the response Harry got. His quite voice barely above a whisper. “Your parents?” Harry gave a nod.

“That’s tough kid. It’s never right to force one so young into something that they don't understand. But you’ll get there eventually. You’ll see that following is not too bad.” The hand that rested on Harry’s shoulder came up to ruffle the already messy midnight locks.

Harry’s look must have shown the confusion that he felt as the man spoke again.

“Being a Death Eater is hard Harry. But as long as you keep your head down and follow orders you’ll be alright. The Dark Lord may be harsh, but he’s striving for a better world. If a few people die or get hurt in the process…well that’s war.”

It clicked. Harry gave a sigh. The man did not know who he was. The man that sat at his side thought him to be an ordinary Death Eater. A young man, forced by his family to join the ranks of the Dark Lord without his consent. He thought him a sufferer of a misfortune of a much lesser magnitude than the one that truly befell him.

Harry supposed that he did look different from his wedding day. His hair was unrecognisable from the smoothly styled silk that had adorned his head. His clothes were far bigger than the tight fitting white robes that he had worn and his glasses hid his glittering green eyes. Harry must look like a different person. However even with him looking so different, he did not even know whether or not the man next to him had attended the mock festivities.

“It’ll all be alright kid” the man said, sensing unease from the young man beside him. In an attempt of comfort, he ruffled the mop of hair.

* * *

The Dark Lord woke from his slumber, expecting to see a young man before him. He was ready to start anew with him.

Voldemort knew that he had been quick to anger, knew that his temper getting the better of him was not productive. Not if he wanted, no needed for the young man to fall in love with him. Love. The very word made the Dark Lord sick to his stomach. He did not need love, had never needed love. Not through his childhood nor through any of his adult life. However it seemed that fate disagreed with him on this front.

The only reason that the Dark Lord had married the Black brat was due to a prophesy. He was the only one that fit with the words that he had heard. He was the only person he had found that seemed to be applicable for the verse. One that had already changed so much of the Dark Lord’s life already and so much of Hercules’

The Department of Mysteries had lax security at best and when an all powerful Lord wanted to know something he wasn't about to let a few rules stop him. The man had, of course, gone on an exploration of the hall of prophesies, for mere curiosities sake. He had however, come across something that related to him. His name was emblazoned in bright letters and as he had picked up the glass a hushed voice had been issued from the clouded orb.   
  
“The one with power to equal the Dark Lord approaches ... Born to those of three, one of alliance and one of defiance... And the Dark Lord will need to take him as his own…For both must love one another, for neither can win without the other…the one with the power to ensure their victory will be born as the seventh month dies…."

In a show of unprecedented emotion the glass had slipped through his fingers, shattering onto the stone. The Dark Lord, it seemed, had the need of another. However, love being as foreign to him as a life without magic, the man had made a decision. He would not become controlled by the will of his heart; not now, not ever. No, Voldemort’s plan was to make the person in the prophesy fall in love with him. The boy was the one that he had found.

Hercules was weak. Voldemort could see that in the boy. He was starved of affection. The Dark Lord had been sure that he would be able to make the boy fall deeply and irrevocably in love with him, with little effort. However, he had lost control. At the sight of the young man, little more than a boy, standing in his bedroom, he had snapped. With near sadistic glee and a childlike fascination he had stripped the boy down, watching him squirm. Wanting to mark the boy as a possession. The boy was his after all. Even if he did not love him, he would claim him as his own. No one else would touch him. He would make sure of that.

However as the boy pushed him away, he came to his senses. This may be what he wanted, but the boy would never love a man that had raped him. He had lost control. Something that had not happened to the Dark Lord for many years. Yet, it appeared that the same thing were to happen again within a number of hours.

He had choked the boy, enjoying as the hope trickled from his eyes. Wanting to watch as all life finally faded from the beautiful green, and yet. This was not what he needed to do. He let the boy drop to the ground with a thump, cursing his own lack of self control. So when the boy had appeared at dinner, smelling of alcohol and barely managing to walk straight, the Dark Lord had said nothing.

He had only watched as the boy had eaten in an ungainly fashion before staggering back to the room; trailing the Dark Lord’s footsteps like a scalded puppy. Voldemort supposed that that’s what the boy was. That was how the Dark Lord had treated him.

Voldemort had returned to the room to see an unconscious Hercules and realised his mistake. He endeavoured to fix it. He did not care for the boy, did not value his wellbeing in anyway, other than that of a tool. However his tool, it seemed, needed a more gentle touch. Voldemort would need to treat the boy more delicately. He would need to create a facade of caring. He would need to prove to the boy that his feelings, no matter how fake, were to Hercules, real. He needed to affirm the certainty of his uncertainty.

So, as the Dark Lord woke up to find the bed empty and any sigh of Hercules gone, he was not pleased, to say the least. In fact, not pleased, was an understatement. It was more realistic to say that the Dark Lord was ready to torture anyone that came within ten feet of him.


	4. Chapter 4

Harry had been in the woods for a time; for how long he was not sure. He had eaten, he had talked, he had barely moved. Harry watched as life buzzed around him. Men and woman wondered through the clearing; in and out of the caves that they inhabited. Fenrir flitted about, moving from person to person, before returning to check on Harry. Children played, chasing each other, climbing trees and occasionally producing a toy of some sort.

One such toy rolled beside him. A ball, misshaped and worn from use, but still functional. It hit Harry’s leg with dull thud. Harry could only stare. Seconds ticked by before a voice reached Harry’s ears.

“Can you pass the ball?” a voice questioned. Harry looked at the small group of children standing close by. The one that had spoken was a step closer than the others. The kid had long blonde hair that fell over their hazel eyes and down to their shoulders. They were dressed, as the others were, in well worn clothes. The clothes, however, were still well taken care of. They were patched well and appeared to be clean, even if there was clear evidence of their frequent use. Harry’s eyes lingered on their bare feet and found himself wondering if there was any way that he could help these kids. He wondered if they even needed help. However before he could slip further a voice, once again, interrupted him.

“I said, can you pass me the ball” the kid growled out, this time sounding far more annoyed. The kid stepped forward another step, eyes glinting with an amber gleam. The kid took another step.

“Sky” a voice cut through the clearing. Fenrir was back by Harry’s side the man standing by him, looking at the group of children. “I told you to keep your temper under control” the man gave a small smile. He stepped toward the kid, picking up the ball as he went. Placing the ball in the blonde’s hands, he ruffled the already disheveled hair.

“Will you play Fen?” Sky queried, head tilting to the side. Fenrir grinned.

“Only if Harry will” Fenrir threw a cheeky glance at Harry, his smirk wide. Mischief twinkled in his eyes as he looked to the boy still sitting on the grass.

“Please” a child standing behind Sky called out. Dark brown hair matched the eyes that were looking pleadingly toward Harry. “Fen never gets to play with us” the child whined. A small smile crept its way onto Harry’s face without his consent. A nod soon followed.

Harry pushed his way up, his legs slightly shaky from misuse. Fenrir made the few short steps toward him, assisting Harry in standing, his hand grasping Harry’s. Harry gave a kind smile, a thankful smile.

“I don't know how to play” Harry whispered to the man that still held his hand in his own. Fenrir gave another wolfish grin, his white teeth glinting.

“Neither do I” he laughed in hushed tones. Harry’s smile grew, soon matching the one on the other’s face. He gave a shy nod as he was pulled toward the waiting children.

Half an hour later found Harry clutching the ball to his chest tightly, in a ball himself on the floor. He was curled tightly around the ball, still not sure what was going on. However he was not about to let the battered ball escape from his grasp now that he finally had it. The kids surrounded him attempting to pull the ball from him and failing miserably.

With a playful roar Fenrir ran forward pulling Harry up into his arms. Harry’s back met that of the much taller man’s. No matter how Harry continued how to curl up the small hands of the children succeeded in forcing the ball from his own.

Harry lunged after the ball, a smile on his face, bright and full of happiness. Fenrir held him back, laughing at the young man in his grasp. Harry took the advantage of the man’s distraction to try and escape again. However, even distracted, Fenrir’s grasp was still firm. The silver haired man toppled forward, his body falling atop Harry’s.

Harry burst out laughing. Loud and joyous laughter that echoed through the clearing. He laughed with more sincerity than he could ever remember. His grin was splitting his face and his eyes sparkled with life. He could not remember the last time that he felt this happy, that he had felt this free.

Fenrir rolled off him, wolfish grin still in place. He pushed his way to his feet and extended a callused toward the young man still lying on the soft grass. However as Harry reached for the hand a red light flashed forward, hitting the silver haired man square in the back. He fell with a thud. His blue eyes clouded with pain and a small scream managed to force its way from his mouth before his teeth clenched.

The children scattered, running from the danger that had engulfed their leader. Some were intent on finding their parents, seeking out help for Fenrir. Others had, however, recognised the source of the spell and realised that their only option was to hide and hope that Fenrir was not injured too gravely. Harry could only watch.

The spell was released as soon as it had come and Harry was spurred into action. He leapt toward the still form of his friend, lying on the floor. His hand rested on the man’s chest as Harry assessed the laboured breathing and clouded eyes.

Intentional footsteps thudded their way through the clearing. Harry looked up. Lord Voldemort stood before them. His handsome face was twisted into an angry scowl. Harry rocketed to his feet. His hands shot from the man below him, as though he were being burned. All the joy had left him, fear now sparking in every atom of his being. His body was tense and his breathing ragged. His eyes were wide, terror beginning to spread through the once joyful green.

Lord Voldemort stepped forward. He raised his wand, malice twinkling in his eyes. A smirk crawled its way into his lips as he stepped forward. He was ready to punish the man that had touched what was his. Voldemort had been watching the scene play out for several minutes. He had seen the smile on the boy’s face, had heard the laughter ring through the forest. He had seen Hercules act as he had never acted before and for some reason he felt angry. A hot and burning anger that was stronger than what he had felt that morning. It rippled through him like a stone being thrown onto a lake. Wave after wave, continuing to spread wider and wider.

“Stop” a small voice whispered through the clearing. Voldemort cast a glance toward Hercules. The boy was on his feet now, his eyes filled with fear and sadness, refusing to look at the man he stood before.   
Voldemort ignored his husband. He brought his wand higher a glint in his eyes. He wanted to see the mutt suffer. He had touched what belonged to the Dark Lord. No-one did that and was allowed to get away with it. His irrational anger increased as he saw the werewolf push himself into a sitting position and reach for his Hercules. The Dark Lord bared his teeth in a vicious sneer.

“Crucio” he spat, red shooting from his wand. However, it did not hit its intended target. Instead Harry threw himself in front of the light, preventing its connection with the werewolf on the grass. Harry collapsed to the floor, his body twitching. A small scream forced its way from his mouth. His eyes squeezed shut, the green vanishing from view.

The Dark Lord lifted the spell almost instantly. His eyes were sparkling with red, anger as harsh as the cruciatus curse that he had just used, as he stepped forward.

“You idiotic boy” he scowled, stepping closer to the still figure on the floor. “How dare you defy me. You are mine Hercules!” his voice was violent, the anger clear in each syllable. However as he reached the boy he faltered. A brief flicker of anguish filled his eyes, before it was brutally squashed. It appeared that something was wrong with Hercules.

Hercules was not moving. The only sign that he was still alive was the shallow breathing, his chest moving up and down minutely. The boy’s eyes were shut and his skin extremely pale, more pale than the usual snow like complexion. It was deathly white. This was not the reaction that the Dark Lord had been expecting. It was not a normal reaction. The boy had only been under the torture curse for a few seconds. It may be painful, yes, but it should not have forced him into unconsciousness.

“What did you do mutt!” Voldemort shouted as he flashed a death glare at the werewolf. Fenrir had been creeping toward the prone form of his friend on the grass however as the voice cut through the silence he froze. His eyes wide as he looked to the Dark Lord. It seemed that the werewolf’s attention had been utterly focused on Hercules. So much so that he had forgotten the presence of his Lord.

“Nothing my Lord” the werewolf croaked out. His voice was rough from his screams and his body still stiff and sore from the effects of the curse. However his eyes still flickered to the too still boy on the floor, even as he attempted to remain respectful to the man before him.

“He may be…” Fenrir’s head turned away. The werewolf did not wish to be seen criticising his Lord. However he needed to help the boy. He had become rather attached to him in the past few days.

“Well, he may be suffering from…overexposure” Fenrir’s voice was quiet as he finished the last word, his hand subconsciously reaching for the boy as he whispered the final syllables.

Voldemort stood for several seconds, his eyes on the man who was still curled on the ground, reaching for his husband. His mind did not seem to comprehend the words that were spoken. What did the werewolf mean? What in Merlin’s name was he talking about?

“What!” he growled out the word. A single syllable that spoke of so much more. Anger and frustration radiated from the Dark Lord’s form in waves. Fenrir found it a struggle not to flinch back from the raw power that he was felling from the man.

“T-to the cruciatus curse, My Lord” the werewolf managed to stammer out. He could feel Voldemort’s power crawling through the air, the magic, unnamable and wild, dancing over his skin. It demanded answers. Answers that Fenrir needed provide, no matter the consequences. He was sure that the consequences of silence were far worse than those of explanation.

“Yesterday in the library I found” Fenrir paused. It was only a millisecond that it took for the thoughts to swirl around his head. Harry was the name he had been given by the boy, but it seemed that Hercules was the one that the Dark Lord used. Fenrir was sure that the name was of significance. “Hercules” the wolf continued.

“I attempted to cure him the best I could…but he is…unused to such pain…” the man felt for the young boy. He knew how painful the curse was and he had years of experience to develop resistance. Being subjected to such agony twice in as many days must have been extremely painful and draining for the boy.

“Greyback” the Dark Lord growled. “I do not appreciate you lying to me” the man’s anger seemed to only increase. Fenrir could feel the rage in the man’s magic. It was as though pins were pricking his skin digging deep into the delicate layers. It demanded answered.

“Hercules was not…” However the spoken boy chose that moment to begin to move again. His whole body began to spasm, every nerve seemingly alight as his whole body shook. Screams ripped through his lungs, spit flying from the bitten red lips. Emerald eyes snapped open, unseeing, terrified and filled with pain.

* * *

Harry’s eyes fluttered open, the green fuzzy and disorientated as they looked around the room. Harry blinked and then blinked again. Light was streaming through the window of the room, the gentle rays caressing his skin. Harry enjoyed the feel of it. Harry felt as though he was waking for the first time in months. He let a small smile grace the cracked lips.

Harry recognised the room as the Dark Lord’s, the bed the one that he shared with the man. He found himself realising that he had never been in the room during the day. It was not a place that he had ever taken the time to observe. He had either been too scared or too preoccupied with other thoughts. He looked around it now.

The bed was a gentle white, the sheets crisp and clean. They were soft, gentle on his skin. The rest of the room was similar. White seemed to be the predominant colour. It consumed Harry’s senses. The walls reflected the gentle light streaming from the window, the floor was a light wood, ash maybe, that matched the rest of the furniture in the room. The bed side tables were the only decoration, situated with unlit candles. A rug lay on the floor, a light and calming brown that was there for nothing more than practicality. It gave the room a normality that Harry had missed before. It was a curious thing for such an extraordinary man to have a room that was just so normal. Harry found himself thinking, for the first time, that the room was a place that he wanted to be.

Harry pushed himself from the comfortable bed, with difficulty. As he was not frozen in fear with the fact that there was a Dark Lord, his husband, lying next to him, he found himself liking the comfort that the mattress provided. He needed persuaded himself not to lie there indefinitely. He really needed a wash. A bath would do just fine.

Harry walked on unsteady legs toward the bathroom. His legs were surprisingly weak and yet Harry was too amazed by the bathroom as he entered it to think too long about why he was feeling as he was. He was feeling far too light to allow any deeper thoughts to weigh him down. He felt like a ballon that wanted to float away. Anything remotely heavy and he would be trapped here forever.

* * *

The Dark Lord felt his wards buzz at him, the magic insistent, desperate even. It seemed that Hercules was out of his bed. The young man had not been awake in two and a half days. Voldemort had been forced to watch the boy, his new husband, lay on a bed, not moving and barely breathing. Not that Voldemort would admit it, but the past two days had been the closest that the Dark Lord had come to feeling something that may have resembled fear in his entire lifetime.

Once Fenrir had finally managed to explain that had happened to Harry Voldemort had been, displeased to say the least. The man, of course, had not know who it was that had cast the curse on his new husband. He needed to find out. They needed to be punished. In the next two days he had, however, been unsuccessful. He had found nothing. None of his followers had confessed to the crime.

The Dark Lord was not used to failure. Everything in his life had been successful. Any endeavour that he out his mind to, he accomplished. Therefore as the days wore on his frustration built up. It seemed that along with the anger that consumed the Dark Lord, no one wanted to be anywhere near the man. They were sure to be met with a torture curse. It seemed that his only option was to wait for Hercules to wake up. Every Death Eater was waiting with baited breath for that moment to arise.

Asking the boy for answers, was therefore the justification that the Dark Lord gave himself for running up the manor steps as the wards continued to buzz irritably in his ear. He must find out who had hurt his husband. They needed to be punished.

Voldemort pushed open the door to his rooms. It bashed loudly on the wall, displacing a large amount of air. The Dark Lord looked angrily around the room, his eyes seeking out the young man that he expected to find there. His eyes were dissatisfied. An unmade bed was all that the room revealed.

Voldemort strode across the room in four quick steps, entering the bathroom. He swung the door open, with violence equalling that of the first. A small squeak was brought from the boy that was standing semi-nude in the centre of the room. The bath was filling and Harry’s top was off, his boxers the only thing covering him. Harry’s green eyes were wide as they looked to the viciously angry man before him.

“Who did it Hercules?” the man growled out taking another step forward. The man’s eyes were flashing with anger that left the boy utterly confused. He could only frown and let his mouth fall open slightly. The small gap revealed his white teeth. The Dark Lord stepped toward Harry again. Harry’s back hit the cold tiled wall, sending a shiver running through him, goosebumps jumping to his skin. Harry couldn't help but feel utterly vulnerable.

The man before him was fully dressed and fully armed. He had a dark suit on, the clothing was completely black, reflecting the look on the man’s face. Shoes were polished to within an inch of their life. They looked deadly. They gleamed with the promise of pain that hid below the calm and collected surface. Harry found himself wondering how much blood those shoes had walked through, how many bodies their Master had caused. The man’s wand was grasped delicately in his hand. A weapon of mass destruction held as gently as one would a rose. Harry was utterly at the man’s mercy. He supposed that there was no change there.

The Dark Lord stepped to meet Harry. A hand came up to grip his shoulder, his nails digging into the pale skin. Red crescents bloomed to the surface as the grip tightened. Even though the Dark Lord’s wand remained pointed at the floor, Harry could not help but be fearful. The glint in the man’s eyes was enough. Voldemort’s leg was pushed between Harry’s, causing the boy’s stance to crumble. The only thing keeping him steady was the hand that pushed him harder against the wall.

“Who cast a cruciatus curse on you Hercules?” the man growled out, his face only several inches from his husband’s. His eyes were hard and his tone left no room for argument. Harry could feel the breath on his face, hot and angry as the very man before him.

It took Harry’s mind several seconds to catch up with the question that was being posed to him. He blinked as the Dark Lord’s grip tightened. The question was not the one that he had been expecting. Harry’s gaze flickered up to meet his husband’s and he felt as all the air rushed from his lungs. The killing intent glittered there without regulation. Harry’s throat became tight.

“Bellatrix” Harry finally managed to breath out. His eyes were rapidly turned to the floor, away from the murderous glint. His body was filled with tension. It seemed that any relaxation the boy had managed to develop had gone out of the window. He was terrified. The man before him seemed to have that effect.

The Dark Lord gave Harry nothing as he stormed from the room. No acknowledgement of the name that he had been given. He simply let his feet click on the tiled floor. The man did, however stop in the door way. Without looking around a few harsh words spilled from his lips.

“Dinner will be in three hours. I expect you to be there.” The man then continued his journey from the room, leaving a shell shocked Harry who had more questions than answers as he sagged to the floor


	5. Chapter 5

Harry went down to dinner than night, still in a state of confusion. He had seen no-one in the past three hours, spending his time having a bath and attempting to regain some of the sense of calm that he had been filled with as he had woken. He was unsuccessful. The feeling had gone. It had utterly vanished without a chance of return. Harry was jittery, his body filling with shakes and nervous energy throughout those hours.

Harry had realised that there was something wrong with his situation minutes after the Dark Lord had left. He had sat in the bath, soaking in the soothing water. He must have been asleep for longer than he first assumed. Time seemed to have ticked on and Harry had not been with it. The Dark Lord had looked tired, even as he flamed with anger. His clothes had differed from those that Harry remembered seeing the last time he had been conscious. The man had changed, no matter how minutely. Time had continued. Harry was not sure how far.

Harry had sat in the bath letting himself fall deeper into his thoughts. He had thought about Fenrir. He thought about how the man must hate him now. He was sure that the man’s opinion would be utterly altered. Harry was no longer the weak Death Eater, forced by his family into an undesirable position. No Harry was nowhere near that. Fenrir had seen his true self now. He had seen that Harry was nothing more than a pathetic, worthless human being. He was not even worthy of being a Death Eater. No, he was forced into deeper servitude. He was the Dark Lord’s slave. A husband in only name. Fenrir would not want to speak to him again.

As Harry had exited the bath he had cast a tempus, only to be shocked at the results. Two and a half days of being utterly unconscious was not something that Harry had been expecting. Harry found himself wondering if Fenrir was okay, even though it was a certainty, in his mind, that the man would now hate him.

Harry could only sit on the bed for the next hour. He was consumed by his thoughts, the feelings of the past few days overwhelming him. Harry had still not accepted the man that he had been married to. He did not want this. He wanted to marry someone that he loved. Someone that loved him. Unbidden tears had trickled down his face as he could think of nothing more than his broken life.

With fifteen minutes left, Harry forced himself from the bed. He pulled on his robes with a dejected sigh. He was fearful of what were to happen if he did not attend the meal however an overwhelming reluctance filled him. This was not a meal he wanted to attend. He didn't want to see anyone. Most of all he did not want to see his husband.

Harry’s robes matched his disheveled hair. He felt uncomfortable in the clothes. His body was still stiff, even after the bath. He made his way along the corridors, alone with his thoughts as he trudged toward the dining hall. The double doors loomed before him ominously. Harry screwed his courage and pushed open the door.

Harry’s eyes instantly hit the floor as he walked through the door, unwilling to meet the scrutiny from the eyes before him. He therefore did not see the woman that came toward him. A flinch, did however, ripple through his form as the woman pulled him toward her into some sort of hug.

“Hercules” the woman shouted, her voice filled with worry and concern. It was fake. This woman had never cared about him. She had never been worried for his safety. Hercules’ face was blank as he looked up at the woman before him.

“Mother” he said in little more than a whisper. His voice was emotionless. His eyes blank.

The Dark Lord sat, watching the scene. He was surprised at the reaction of his husband, to say the least. The woman had sent a letter to the Dark Lord the day after Hercules had been seen by the Medi-wizard. Voldemort had assumed that the boy had been unable to respond to the letters due to his state of unconsciousness. He had therefore told the family of Hercules’ situation, absolving himself of all guilt, of course. The woman, along with her husband and second son, had been at the Manor since.

Voldemort had therefore not been expecting the look of utter disregard that filled his husband’s face at the sight of his family. As the woman’s arms wrapped around Hercules the boy’s flinch was almost imperceptible. Yet the Dark Lord was able to see it. Seeing the boy’s uncomfortable situation Voldemort called to his new husband.

“Hercules” the man’s voice was loud enough as to break through the endless babble of Walburga as her hands roamed over Hercule’s form.

“Come and eat” The Dark Lord knew of unsavoury family. It was not something that he wanted anyone to suffer through, especially someone that was his. For that was what Hercules was. He was the Dark Lord’s.

The eyes of every Death Eater were on Hercules as he was summoned by the Dark Lord. Hercules’ steps were rapid, quickly away from the family that had forced him here. Harry found himself thinking that the whole situation was oddly poetic. Here he was, stepping away from the people that had forced him into the situation in the first place.

Harry sat down next to the Dark Lord, his green eyes still glittering with apprehension. The food appeared before Harry and it was only then that he realised that he was starving. He restrained himself, waiting for the Dark Lord himself to begin his food.

Harry did not have to wait long and within minutes all his food was gone. The meal vanishing quickly into his mouth. Harry quickly looked from his plate and toward his lap, fiddling with his hands, his fingers threading one through the other. He was embarrassed for the pace of his eating, but he had not been able to stop himself. He had been far too hungry for that. His restraint had disappeared as soon as he had seen that the Dark Lord had taken his first mouthful of food.

Harry was interrupted from his thoughts as a hand came to rest on his shoulder. A shudder ran through him at the sudden contact, his eyes snapping toward the source of the hand. The Dark Lord was looking toward Harry, eyes filled with an emotion that the young man could not decipher.

“You want some more?” the Dark Lord questioned. The words may have been ones that in any other situation would have been soothing. However, the Dark Lord’s words voice seemed to hold no emotion. Even though the words were an empty void, there seemed to be a spark that flickered in the dark brown eyes. Something. Something that Harry could not hope to understand.

Harry looked away. A small nod of his head the only reply he gave, as he avoided eye contact with his husband at all cost. Voldemort’s fingers dug further into Harry’s shoulder. A sign of possessiveness, as well as reassurance. Not for Harry, no, the reassurance was as self indulgent as everything else that the man did. The Dark Lord needed to know that Hercules was safe.

The Dark Lord, shoulder griped tighter, snapped his fingers. Less than a second passed before a small, scared looking house elf appeared. The creature had a black tunic draped across its thin shoulders, a large Slytherin crest emblazoned on its chest. Just like with the rest of the Dark Lord’s possessions, house elves were marked clearly. It was clear to the world just who they belonged to.

“Hercules requires a second helping of food” the man sneered with disdain at the house elf. The thing gave a small petrified squeak before vanishing with a pop. The creature did not reaper. However within seconds a second plate of food did.

As it did so the Dark Lord dropped his hand to his side, focusing on his own food. Harry could only sit for several seconds, watching the steaming dish that had been placed before him.

“Eat” the whispered command came, casing Harry to flinch. The breath was hot on his ear. His heart hammered and he quickly picked up his cutlery and dug into the food before him.

The meal lasted only a little time more. Harry’s plate was soon empty once again, as was his husbands. Voldemort did not care for the state of the other members of the dining room. If they had not eaten, that was their own fault. They should have eaten faster.

“Come Hercules” The Dark Lord growled out as he stood gracefully from the head of the table. The rest of the room had risen with him, Harry the only one left sitting. Harry gulped audibly before shooting up to a standing position, the chair behind him screeching along the tiled floor.

Lord Voldemort extended his arm to his husband. He was to escort him. Harry gently lay his arm atop that of the man that he had married before he was guided from the room. Harry was lead down a corridor, toward a room that Harry had not been in before, although that was not a surprise. There were many rooms that Harry had either not entered or did not have permission to do so. The doors crashed open.

Harry was lead to the platform that dominated the front of the room, a throne situated on the otherwise empty stage. Surrounding the pair were more sets of eyes then Harry was comfortable with. Each one seemed to crawl under his skin; insects attempting to invade his body. He felt a shudder run through him, without his permission. His hand clenched without consent. Harry’s hand tightened on his husband’s arm as he cast his eyes back to the floor. He hunched his shoulders and bit his lip. He hated all this attention.

Unbeknownst to Harry, the Dark Lord’s attention was upon him as well, his eyes adding to the number that were already on him. Yet, they looked at him differently from the rest of them. They were not hostile and filled with suspicion. Voldemort's were far less vicious.

Voldemort finished the slow walk, with a step up onto the platform. The slow walk, the silence; it reminded Harry of a funeral march. Harry just hoped that he was not the one lying in the coffin at the end of it.

“Welcome” the Dark Lord purred out, his voice soft and yet filled with malice. The smile that pulled up the pink lips was not filled with kindness.

“My loyal followers” The Dark Lord continued. “I thank you all for your most timely arrival.” Of course they had no choice. If they arrived more than a second late, the torture that followed would be beyond painful.

“As many of you know, I have recently engaged in a bonding ceremony” A murmur ran through the room. All knew this, but many had not been permitted to attend the ceremony. This was the first confirmation from their Lord that they had received. However the Dark Lord’s harsh look at his followers shut them up as soon as their noise had started.

“May I introduce you to Hercules Black” The Dark Lord announced proudly. His eyes turned to the young man at his side, glued to him. They ran up and down his form with a hunger glinting in them. However the eyes soon hardened as they turned back toward the group of men and woman that stood before him.

“I’m sure that it is obvious to all of you, that Hercules belongs to me. As my husband” The Dark Lord’s eyes narrowed

“he is of course” he growled out, danger radiating from every atom of his being

“off limits.” The threat was clear. A serious of nods and murmurs of agreement met the man’s threat.

The Dark Lord’s eyes flickered across the room, as though in search of something, or someone. Evan Rosier flinched as the eyes met roamed over his figure. The newly marked Lucius Malfoy struggled to maintain his composure as he felt the accusation in those eyes burn into him. He let out a small sigh of relief as they passed by. Walden Macnair remained impassive, his years of practice making him almost immune to his Lord’s stare.

The Dark Lord’s gaze finally landed on Bellatrix Lestrange. Her husband stood next to her, yet it was clear that he was not the focus of their Lord’s anger. Bellatrix seemed unperturbed by the gaze, if the manic smile on her face was anything to go by. She met her Lord’s eyes with a reverence; a joy that spoke of deep intoxication. She was in love with the man before her. So blind she could see nothing else, could understand nothing else. Everything was about the Dark Lord. However, it was evident that the Dark Lord did not feel the same.

“However, it seems that some of my followers…were unclear on this point” the man’s voice growled out in anger as his eyes met the oblivious ones of his self proclaimed, ‘most loyal’ follower.

It was at that moment that the Dark Lord stepped from his place. He left Hercules on the platform as his shoes clicked against the stone floor. The sound echoed off the walls, cutting through the silence like a knife. It was evident that each individual in the room knew what was going on. Each except for the woman who was under scrutiny. The crowds parted biblically. No-one wanting to get in the way of the Dark Lord’s fury.

Bellatrix was soon left standing along. The Dark Lord merely inches in front of her.

“Bellatrix” he growled out. However the woman remained oblivious to the murderous intent that twinkled in her Lord’s eyes.

Bellatrix’s smile only widening as her Lord addressed her. It seemed that the woman was unable to comprehend her Lord’s anger. She was so enthralled with him, willing to serve in absolutely any way that she could. She deemed all her actions to be ones that were helping her Lord, ones that had justification. Even as the Dark Lord spoke, it was still clear, in her mind, that she was right in all her actions. She had only been doing her duty in torturing Hercules. He was, after all, a stain on her Lord’s reputation.

“Crucio” was all it took. Nothing more than a whisper and the woman was on the floor, all admiration vanishing from her eyes. It was replaced with a mixture of confusion and pain. A screech forced its way from her lips as the curse continued. Although the pain in her eyes at the realisation of her wrong doing was far greater than the physical pain that now coursed through her every atom.

The curse ended as abruptly as it came leaving a disheveled and panting Bellatrix on the floor. Her hair was flat around the red face, her eyes still filled with suffering. The Dark Lord ignored her, the whimpers of despair falling on deaf ears.

“Get her out of my sight.” The words were not spoken to anyone in particular but the scurry of movement that followed the command showed that the words were definitely heard. The Dark Lord didn't even spare the woman a glance before he turned his attention back to where Harry still stood.

“Come Hercules” the man demanded before turning and leaving the room. Harry followed quickly being him, utterly dazed by the scene that had just played out before him.


	6. Chapter 6

The next few days were, well, they were. Harry wasn't exactly sure how to describe them. The Dark Lord was acting strange, his eyes constantly skittering across Harry’s form when he believed that the boy was not looking. But Harry was always looking. His senses were attuned to pay attention to everything. There was no other way to survive in the Black household. To stay unseen you needed to see everything.

The Dark Lord wasn't the only one that seemed to have changed their attitude toward the boy that was married to their Lord. The Death Eaters were different now. Harry saw their eyes on him, could hear their footsteps behind him, following him. But their eyes did not burn him in the way that they had been less than a week ago. They seemed to be watching him without disgust and suspicion. No, there was now concern in their gazes. But hidden in them was something else; a fear that twinkled behind layers of deception that each Death Eater had developed through years of practice. Hercules was not so well versed in Death Eater politics as to claim to know every emotion that crossed their faces, yet he did know fear when he saw it. That was an emotion that he had come to know well.

Harry felt that he was being smothered. Eyes were constantly on him and the Dark Lord seemed to know where he was at all times. If it was not the Dark Lord that was at his side, it was on of his numerous Death Eaters that dogged Harry’s steps. He was never free from the scrutiny, constantly feeling eyes on him. Yet there was one person that Harry had not seen. Fenrir was a face that he had not seen since the man had been tortured in the woods. Even if Harry missed the silver headed man, he was scared as to what the man would think. He had hidden himself from him, avoiding the truth and letting him make assumptions about the nature of his relationship with the Dark Lord.

Harry was therefore dreading the event that was scheduled for tonight. The Malfoy summer ball was a tradition that stretched back for years, decades. Harry knew that both his brothers had attended the event, a privilege that had not been respected by Sirius. This therefore lead to Regulus having the honour the next year. Harry would be attending this year for the first time, on the arm of the Dark Lord. The event was one which all Death Eaters, no matter their standing and their heirs would indefinitely be attending. That meant Fenrir. This only added to Harry’s apprehension. He was already dreading the event, having so much pressure on him, people watching his every step. It would be hideous.

Harry woke the morning of the ball with a trepidation that he could do little to hide. His eyes were dark, the sparkle dulled as a leaf does as winter fast approaches, falling from the tree only to be trampled to dust. The green adopted a less vivid hue, ready to turn brown as the colder days came. Harry trudged through the day like a zombie, his thoughts on the shattering of his life.

As lunch finished, Harry having eaten very little, the Dark Lord gave him a look.

“Hercules” the man extended his arm. Harry hastily took it, his eyes quickly darting to his feet. Harry was lead from the Hall and back to the rooms that he shared with the Dark Lord. The door opened with a push from his husband.

“I have had your outfit prepared for you. You have until three o'clock to bathe and ready yourself in any other ways that you deem necessary. Alice Yaxley and Jessica Gibbon will be here to assist you with getting ready. I will see you at five.” Harry watched the man leave, a sigh forcing its way from him as the door shut behind his husband with a click.

Harry stripped himself, placing his clothes in the wash basket for the house-elves to deal with. He stepped into the bathroom and turned on the shower, waiting for the water to reach a suitable heat. The steam pouring from behind the glass was an indication of a suitable temperature. Harry got in. As Harry stood under the rush of boiling water he thought about the people that he was soon to be…reunited with.

The two women that were to prepare him for the ball were Slytherins that he had been to school with. Yaxley had graduated two years ago, Gibbon having graduated as of the summer. The two had been less than pleasant company, to say the least. Their views aligned with that of Regulus and the rest of the aspiring Death Eaters in the school. This had not lead Harry to having a functional relationship with the pair. They had not necessarily been actively aggressive, but neither had they been anywhere close to nice to him.

The thoughts about how to deal with the pair weighed heavily on Harry’s mind. He was not sure of how to act around them now. The dynamic had changed. Harry was no longer the boy that he had been at the end of last year. Of course he was sure that neither were the pair that he was about to see again. It was a conundrum, one that Harry was blind of the answer to.

Harry got out of the shower, feeling more lethargic than when he had first entered it. His eyes were heavy as he collapsed onto the bed. A towel was wrapped around his waist, his arms outstretched, the white sheets sticking to his slightly damp skin. He let his eyes flicker shut, contemplating the evening. He had half an hour before the twins of terror were to arrive, however, in Harry’s mind that was no way near long enough.

From watching his brothers go through these processes of preparation in the past, he knew what was expected of him. Harry need only dress in his underclothes as the two women arrived. A pair of underpants and a vest was all that he need. The rest would be sorted by the two women. Clothing, hair, makeup, accessories and whatever else the Dark Lord had required would be fulfilled in the allotted time.

Harry pulled himself from the comfort of the bed, heading toward the wardrobe. He pulled open the doors. Hanging there, in all their glory were the robes that Harry would be wearing tonight. They were fantastical. The material itself was probably worth more than money than Harry had ever seen before. Delicate stitching further accentuated the beauty of the material. A strips of dark green material lined the edge of the robes, small silver snakes embroidered delicately across it. The message of who Harry belonged to was emphasised with further clarity as the finishing touch of the robe was Slytherin crest emblazoned on the left lapel. Harry sighed. The expectation that would rest on his shoulders as he wore those clothes would be phenomenal. Harry pulled on the required clothing, tossing his towel into the wash basket, pushing the thoughts from his mind.

Soon enough, the two women arrived. Harry felt utterly vulnerable as he went to answer the door. He took a breath as he stretched out his hand. He squared his shoulders and raised his head high. He adopted the facade of power that he had seen his family and numerous Death Eaters maintain on a semi-permeant basis. He needed to look powerful before these two. Weakness was not an option. Harry knew from experience that Death Eaters would jump on any opportunity to take advantage of someone else. Harry was not about to give them that opportunity. He needed to be strong, stronger than he had ever been. These women were mean and he could not let them even the slightest opening.

Harry opened the door. His face was emotionless as he was met with the sight of the two women. They were just as he remembered them. Yaxley was short, just over five foot, but she made up for the fact she was short, with the sheer amount of hatred that was packed into the small form. Her brown hair, seemed to flair from her, making her look like an angry hedgehog. Her brown eyes, their brown as dark as her hair, were equally as angry. Harry didn't let himself become threatened. He kept his whole form hard, solid. He was a rock. He would not be moved by such trivial things as anger. Gibbon was taller and more refined than the younger Yaxley. Her blonde hair was neat, her blue eyes sparkling with judgement as she looked at Harry. He ignored it, he ignored them. He did not let the turmoil of emotions show on his face.

“Come in” Harry said blankly. He moved from the door way, watching as the pair entered the room at a sedate pace. Harry said nothing else. He set himself down in the chair that was situated before the large mirror that dominated one wall of the room.

The next two hours passed painfully, Harry was pulled and prodded and manoeuvred into positions that were irregular and uncomfortable. However he spoke not a word and neither did the two women in the room. Their only words were to indicate a new position for Harry to adopt. However as the clock reached five, Harry was amazed at their efforts. He could not recognise the man that looked back at him in the mirror. For thats what he was now, the eyes were those of a man. His robes were not feminine, the small amount of makeup that was painted on his face, not making him look like any less than who he was. His hair was styled and sculpted in such a way that it accentuated each line of his face. He looked like a work of art; a greek sculpture. Each and every line a work of art, a carefully crafted masterpiece.

Harry was so engrossed in looking at himself that he did not hear the door open, admitting his husband. However the flurry of movement that followed did draw Harry’s attention. The two women were now bowing before the Dark Lord, their heads low, their eyes cast to the floor. Harry turned to see what the commotion was about.

The Dark Lord’e breath caught in his throat as he saw his husband turn to him. Hercules looked breathtaking. A piece of art stood before him. The Dark Lord’s eyes flitted across the perfect form drinking in each detail, drinking him in. He felt as if he were finally finding water after being lost in the desert for days on end. He simply could not get enough.

“Leave us” the Dark Lord growled out at the two women.

“My Lord” Two murmurs responded. However as they went to leave they were blocked. Voldemort stood before them. His eyes were hard as his hand reached fro his wand.

“And…” His voice was sickly sweet. Harry tensed at the sound.

Two sets of eyes looked back to him with fear and trepidation. The two women forced words from their lips.

“Master Hercules” was the muttered word that left their lips before they turned and left the room. Harry blinked. Harry was confused, why would they address him in such a fashion? Obviously the confusion showed on his face as the Dark Lord made efforts to explain.

“It’s necessary” The man said as he stepped forward toward his husband. “They will respect you, as they respect me.” The Dark Lord was close now. A foot away, as he continued further. Hercules attempted to keep his eyes hard, as he looked to the man before him. He attempted to maintain his composure even as he felt the breath of the man on his cheek.

“I…I have not earned their respect” Harry mumbled, his courage failing him with every second that passed by. As the brown eyes were glued to his.

“You are mine” was the possessive growl that followed, eyes glinting. “That is enough”

* * *

Harry arrived at the party on the arm of the Dark Lord. They had traveled by a converted car, the inside done out in soft leather, drinks flowing, yet conversation stilled. The journey had been accompanied by the driver, a nameless Death Eater that Voldemort had tasked with the job of transportation. Silence was the only other thing that accompanied the journey.

As Harry stepped from the car, that was of course bigger on the inside, it seemed that eyes were on him in seconds. However as he walked, his arm resting on his husbands he did not feel judged by those eyes. He felt worshiped. The eyes that looked at him, were doing so with awe. Not the suspicion and hatred that had dogged his steps for the past seventeen years of his existence, no. Now they looked at him as though he were some sort of prize, something that was unattainable and beyond their reach. Yet, Harry was not sure that this look was any better than the hatred had been.

Harry met many, faces blurring into one as he remained on the Dark Lord’s arm. An hour passed and Voldemort found himself in a conversation with the young Lucius Malfoy, host of the party and newly marked Death Eater. The two were so much engaged in the conversation that they failed to notice as Harry slipped away toward the drinks table. The pressure of the night was putting him on edge. Harry needed to calm his nerves and the best way he could think to do that was a couple of glasses of whatever the hell was on the table before him. He picked up several small glasses of…something. Surely the smaller it was, the less alcohol was in it?

Harry had very little experience in alcohol. His first gulps of the stuff being when Fenrir. Harry winced at the thought. He had not seen the Werewolf so far tonight and that was a blessing. He did not know if he could face the man after what had happened. Harry took a gulp of the liquid, swallowing the whole glass in one. It tasted horrible and it burnt his throat, but he knew from experience that the feeling after the drink would be worth the burning sensation. Harry took another, and then another. Five drinks later and Harry was already feeling the effects of the alcohol in his system, especially from his bladder.

Harry made his way to the bathroom, oblivious to anything other than the desperate need to urinate. Harry sighed with relief as he set himself on the seat, the liquid pouring onto the white porcelain. The room seemed to spin slightly, his head off tilter as Harry’s bladder emptied itself. He blinked, then blinked again attempting to right himself. He felt a little better as he stood and washed his hands. His face still look perfect in the mirror, each line immaculate and brilliantly formed. He smiled at his face. Harry knew that he would be missed if he did not make his way to back to the party soon. He unlocked the door and started for the ballroom on less than steady feet.

However Harry’s trip was soon halted by a group of people. Harry knew of all of them, but there was one that stood out. After all he was someone that he had know him since the day that he took his first breath. Regulus.

“Oh look who it is” A sneer marred the face of a young man by the name of Travis Goyle. He was twenty and had been a Slytherin with Regulus. Harry had seen the pair talk on several occasions. “It’s the Dark Lord’s whore” a smile stretched up the man’s face, but it was not a kind one. It was filled with malice and sadistic glee.

“We know what you want whore” another man said, stepping forward and pinning Harry’s neck to the wall. Harry’s eyes scurried across the man’s face. Igor Karkaroff was only seventeen, but he was tall, far taller than Harry. He was young, even for a Death Eater, but he seemed fully committed to the cause. Harry had seen him only in passing, but he had heard of his parents talk of him.

Karkaroff put more pressure on Harry’s neck. As Harry felt his air supply being cut off, he snapped from the slight haze that the alcohol had induced in him. His eyes widened as adrenalin began pumping through him at a rapid rate. Harry’s knee came up, connecting with the other man’s genitals. Karkaroff grunted a curse in response his grip loosening, his hands reaching for the source of the pain. Harry pushed the taller man away before attempting to get away from the group as well. However he was halted in his movements.

“You little shit” another of the group yelled out. Barty Crouch Jr pushed Harry back against the wall harshly. Harry’s breath was forced from his lungs at the sudden movement and he felt heat spread through his back as the harsh bricks met it. Harry clenched his teeth at the feeling. His wrists were pinned to the wall with equal force and Harry could already feel the skin bruising under the thick fingers. Harry’s knee moved to do as it had done before, but he was halted his movements as Crouch brought his foot down harshly on Harry’s own.

The pain shot up his leg, causing it to buckle under the weight. Crouch kept Harry’s wrists in his hold as Harry fell to the floor. Harry’s knees thudded painfully to the floor, while his wrists were kept pulled upward. Harry winced as his body was kept in the uncomfortable position. His arms were pulled up behind his back, Crouch making the position as painful as he could. Harry held back the whimper that attempted to escape his lips.

Feet pattered toward him and Harry looked up to see Regulus looking down on him in revulsion.

“You’re disgusting” he spat out as his eyes met Harry’s. He sneered, derision in every contour of his face. Regulus took his younger brothers chin in his hands, bruising touches to the delicate skin.

“You’re not a Black. You’ve never been a Black. You’re nothing but a piece of shit!” Regulus spat, a fleck landing on Harry’s face. Regulus’ hand dropped Harry’s head, lifting up his knee as Harry’s head dropped. He thrust it strongly into his brother’s stomach. Harry’s breath left him with a harsh thrust. Crouch let him go and he fell to the floor gasping like a fish out of water. The group left him there.

Any sort of confidence that Harry may have gained over the course of the night had left him as he lay there panting on the floor. Tears streamed down his face, ruining the carefully crafted image that had been created for him for the night. Several minutes passed before Harry pushed himself up from the floor. His eyes were glassy and filled with sadness. He did not want to go back to the party.

Harry made his way outside, a limp in his step from his now swelling foot. His body was tired and his brain still fuzzy as he walked out of the back doors and along the perfectly manicured garden path. He walked for longer than he thought he had, time seemed to be a concept that had left him altogether. With a sense of relief Harry saw that he was approaching a bench. He was in a secluded area of the garden, trees surrounding him and the path less clear than it had been.

Harry sat, he didn't know for how long. The alcohol had worn off and now he was only tired and filled with self hatred. Tears only continued to stream down his face as he realised just how awful his life was. How hopeless everything seemed to be. He was worthless, he was disgusting, he was nothing. He didn't want to live anymore.

Harry was snapped from his thoughts of self pity as a pair of arms were suddenly wrapped around his waist. Harry went to scream, a rough, pained noise that spoke of his time spent crying. A hand ran through his hair, a soothing voice whispered in his ear. He recognised the voice. He stopped his screaming.

“It’s okay Harry. You’re okay” the voice soothed.

“Fenrir” Harry breathed out, a mingle of relief and fear in his voice. Fenrir ignored the fear and pulled the scared young man to his chest, engulfing him in a large hug. He said nothing, simply sat on the bench as the boy cried. He stroked the now messy hair in gentle repetitive strokes. Harry, after several minutes calmed down, his tears stopping. He realised the position he was in, sitting in the man’s lap, he flushed. However he made no move to sit anywhere else. He was comfortable where he was. He didn’t, however, look at the man who's lap he sat on. He kept his head buried in Fenrir’s chest.

“Fenrir” he mumbled, almost too quietly to be heard. Yet Fenrir’s excellent hearing picked it up. He hummed, giving Harry leave to talk.

“You…You don’t hate me?” Harry mumbled into the muscled chest.

“No Harry” Fenrir soothed, his hand running up and down Harry’s back. “Or should I say Hercules” Fenrir chuckled. Harry tensed against his chest, a frown on his face. He pushed himself away from the man and looked up at his face.

“Heyyy” he whined with a pout on his lips that only made the man laugh harder. As Harry heard the laugh increase, a small smile crept its way onto his face. Through red rimed eyes he grinned at the man before him. As Fenrir saw the small smile on the boy’s face he knew that he was getting somewhere.

“It doesn’t quite suit you does it?” Fenrir grinned, his head tilted to the side. Harry smiled back as he shook his head fondly. It seemed that Fenrir really wasn't mad at him. It seemed that the man didn’t mind who he really was. Apparently he was much more open to the idea that Harry had lied, or at least not told the truth, about his identity.

“So…” Harry questioned. He was attempting to ask without asking. He knew what he wanted to ask, Fenrir knew it too, he just couldn't get the words out.

“It’s fine Harry. I kinda…suspected you from the beginning anyway” Fenrir said regretfully, but Harry simply gave him a small smile. “So, you're not scared that I’m a…well that I’m a werewolf?” Fenrir whispered. Harry shook his head.

“Nope” he popped his p. Harry pulled Fenrir back into a hug. That was enough. The two sat together happy that they had found an answer to the questions that both of them had had for the other.

“I think you need to get back to the party Harry” Fenrir grumbled, sounding as unhappy with the idea as Harry felt. Harry sighed and gave a nod, a small smile soon following. He was sure that the Dark Lord would not be impressed with Harry’s leave of absence as it was. He should not extend it any longer. Harry stood up from the bench reluctantly.

“I think that we better smarten you up a little Harry” Fenrir said with a sad smile. He took out his wand. Harry had to suppress a flinch as the piece of wood was pointed at him. Fenrir simply smiled at him. The man cast several spells, all of which attempted to make Harry’s appearance as it had been before the fight with his brother. Harry, of course, did not look as stunning as he once had, but he still looked beautiful. A force to be reckoned with.

“I’ll walk back with you Harry” Fenrir said with a smile. Harry slipped his hand into Fenrir’s and the man walked him back to the manor.

Harry entered the Ballroom as though nothing had happened. He had talked with Fenrir on the way back to the Manor, the man telling him how to go about his re-entry into the party. He needed to keep his head high, his shoulders squared and his face as hard as stone. He was not to show any weakness. He was to be nothing but calm, collected and indifferent to everyone but the Dark Lord.

Fenrir walked beside Harry, talking to the young man. The words were meaningless. Yet to see the leader of the largest wolf pack in Briton walking beside the husband of the Dark Lord; that was indeed significant. The man didn't touch Harry and didn't get too close. The Dark Lord would not have taken such close relations with any grace or dignity, at least not when the pair were in private.

With a small wave and an almost imperceptible smile Harry walked back toward his husband. The man cast him a suspicious glance, his eyes narrowed as he looked at the young man return. However he did not press the matter. Now was not the time. He merely watched as Hercules approached, a nod in greeting his acknowledgement of the boy. He was not happy that the boy had returned with the wolf by his side, but there was nothing he could do about that now; at least not in public.

“Ladies and Gentlemen” a voice called loud and clear; Abraxas Malfoy, the source of it. “Dinner is served.” There was a flurry of movement as the words were spoken. There were allocated seats, but of course, the Dark Lord could sit wherever he so desired. Therefore he did. A power play, Harry was sure of it.

Voldemort waited till all had left the Ballroom, knowing that none could take a seat until he did. He then entered the room, Harry on his arm, with a flourish of his robes. His eyes scanned the seats. The designated seat for him was one that seated him next to the Malfoy family in its entirety along with a few other members of his inner circle. The Dark Lord, however, had other plans. Events like these were and far between and were the perfect for scaring a few of the new recruits into submission.

Voldemort gave a snap of his fingers creating an entirely new seating plan. Names that had magically floated above the seats began to move to new ones. Abraxas and Lucius remained at the table, along with Hercules of course, but he made several new additions. By the smirks that were visible on his Inner Circle’s face Voldemort was sure that they knew exactly what he was doing. They had seen it each year since these balls had begun. The list of newly marked Death Eaters, other than Lucius consisted of; Igor Karkaroff, Severus Snape, Rabastan Lestrange, Lillian Rosier, Charles Jugson, Jemima and Jeremy Wilkes and finally Henry Travers. The group were all ranging from the ages of seventeen to twenty-four. Hercules was the youngest by around a year, or eleven months, at least in the case of Karkaroff. The Dark Lord may take young members into his ranks, but he refused to take anyone that had not graduated into his ranks. A NEWT level of education was necessary if one was to be fighting in a war.

As the names finished moving the Dark Lord led Hercules to his seat. A small nod to Abraxas was the only acknowledgment of the change that anyone needed before the quickly hurried to take their seats. Voldemort had to suppress the laugh that bubbled in his chest as he watched the new recruits approach the table. They were like mice attempting to hide from an eagle. It was an utterly pointless endeavour, they would always get caught.

The drinks appeared first, glasses filling with the drink appropriate to the course. The first course consisted of scallops and so white wine was the perfect accompaniment. Harry ate without any enthusiasm. He did however increase the amount of wine he consumed with each gulp. The glass automatically refilled as soon as he emptied the previous one.

Harry paid little attention to the politics at play around the table, the subtle shifts of power that engulfed the attention of the individuals sitting there. Harry did, however, notice the extremely quiet snorts of amusement and sneers of derision that met their comments. The boy next to him was one Severus Snape. Harry recognised him from school although the two had never said a word. He had not been welcomed as a Slytherin or as a wizard. It seemed he was not fully welcome here either.

Harry looked toward the older ex-Slytherin with a smile on his face. The utter contempt the young man seemed to feel for the members of the table, even with the Dark Lord present, was amusing. The wine Harry had consumed lowered his inhibitions. He caught the young man’s eyes, mirth clear in his look. The young man’s eyes turned from derision to shock as they met with Harry’s sparkling green. Harry quietly stuck his hand out to the young man before him. The others seemed distracted by their politics, oblivious to Harry’s interactions. However Harry was sure the Dark Lord would see the move. The man was always watching.

“Hercules Black” he said in little more than a whisper. The Black eyes stared at the hand for several seconds. They then flicked up to Harry’s face. They searched it for any sign of treachery, any indication of falsehood. They obviously did not find any.

“Severs Snape” Severus responded, his hand reaching out for Harry’s in a strong shake. Harry smiled.


	7. Chapter 7

Severus Snape looked at the young man before him. He could tell by the lopsided grin and the hazy eyes that Hercules was well on his way to being drunk. Severus supposed that it was no surprise. He himself wished that he could simply drink himself into oblivion and yet he did not have the protection of the Dark Lord. If Severus was to allow himself anything other than full metal capacity the results may be less than pleasant. So Severus simply retracted his hand and gave the young man a tight lipped smile.

“You enjoying the party Sevrrus?” the word was slurred, his name butchered. However that was not the thing that shocked Severus the most, no, the fact that the husband of the Dark Lord was calling him by his first name. That was not something that he had expected. However rather than gaping like a fish, the young man responded.

“It is” he paused. The words pouring from his mouth did not remotely reflect the true nature of his feelings. “most enjoyable, Master Hercules.” Harry snorted as Severus finished. His hands came to cover his mouth as his eyes sparkled. Even as he took his hand away the large grin remained. Severus found that he could not help the twitch of his lips as he saw the white, sparkling teeth.

“It’s Harry Sevrus” the young man whispered, leaning toward Severus; a hand hovering above Severus’ robed shoulder. The young man was close enough that Severus could feel the hot breath on his cheek. “and I think you like this party as much as I do” the boy continued to smile with each word that he spoke and Severus could do nothing more than respond in a similar fashion, his lips were pulled up without consent, as though lifted by the boy’s own infectious smile.

However as Harry reached for another glass of wine a hand came into the bubble that the young man had seemingly created around Severus and himself. The pale hand placed itself atop the glass and menacing brown eyes met with the hazy green. The Dark Lord spoke.

“I believe that you have had enough Hercules” Harry quickly turned away from the piercing gaze. He did, however cast a longing look at the goblet that remained trapped by the hand. He pouted as he turned back to Severus, the face childish, the alcohol having an evident effect on the young man.

“He’s mean” Harry mumbled with a huff. Severus snorted loudly, the sound coming unexpectedly from his lips. The boy had just used the word mean to describe the Dark Lord, one of the most powerful wizards in the world. The whole situation was ludicrous. The sound of amusement seemed to pull Harry from the sadness as the pout vanished, replaced by a shy smile.

The meal progressed, with Harry attempting to start conversation with the young man next to him; Severus giving only the socially acceptable answers. Harry, of course, chose to interpret those as he wished. He laughed and complained, honest expressions flitting across his face. The conversations threw Severus off kilter. He had not had conversations like this since he had lost his friendship with Lily. Hercules seemed to have very little to hide. His emotions were clear on his face. However as the effects of the alcohol seemed to wear off, so did the openness that Harry presented. His questions were less intrusive the more the young man sobered up.

By the time that the dessert appeared on the table the young man that sat next to Severus seemed painfully different person from the one that he had first sat down next to. Severus attempted to talk of things that he himself was well acquainted with.

The food was delicious, the creme brûlée one of the best desserts that Severus had ever eaten; each mouthful a taste sensation. Harry, however, barely seemed to touch the food, taking only a few small bites.The meal finished and people began to stand, making their way across the room to talk to friends and allies. Others made their way back to the ballroom. Movement flurried wildly for the next few minutes; people fluttering like hummingbirds from one place to another.

The Dark Lord stood, pulling Harry from the conversation that he and Severus had been engaged in. Potions had been the name of the game, a safe topic that Severus could become animated about. There was also little to no chance of stumbling upon a social faux pas.

“Hercules, accompany me to the Ballroom” an extended arm was all the indication of the position that the Dark Lord wanted his husband in. Harry sighed internally. He may feel more steady, the fact his wine had been cut off ensuring that his feet were planted more firmly on the ground. However he had been rather enjoying the conversation that he had been having with Severus. The man was guarded and suspicious, yet he had a passion for potions. Harry had never really enjoyed the topic at school, yet hearing the other talk of it, watching the jaded eyes light up, was inspiring. Every word was beautiful due to the intensity behind them.

Harry was led to the Ballroom, the regal posture of his husband leaving no room for escape. Eyes turned to the pair, burrowing into them; attempting to find their secrets in the hope that they could use them against them. Harry stiffened. He hated the eyes looking at him; hating the people that they belonged to even more. He let his head drop, his chin getting closer and closer to his chest as he attempted to escape their pinning gazes.

Harry was halted as the purposeful steps beside him came to a stop. He kept his head down as conversations flittered about him, like leaves on the breeze. All the conversations were light; inconsequential. Too heavy and the conversation would fall to the floor with an embarrassing thud. Such an indignity was not easily redeemable in the eyes of the pureblood circles. A tarnished reputation was as unappealing as death in some eyes.

A ripple of music spread through the room as the orchestra began to play. The lilting tones filled the room gradually, a gentle caress. It began to take control of the room as many responded to the steady rhythm. Dancers paired up as they elegantly made their way across the dance floor. The Dark Lord’s conversation paused. He looked to his young husband who stood with obvious discomfort. Voldemort took the young man’s hand in his.

“Lets dance” Voldemort’s voice demanded as he tugged firmly at the hand that he clasped in his. He ignored the stiffening in Hercules’ shoulders as he pulled the young man toward the group of others that had begun their dancing. Eyes, more vicious than before zeroed in on the pair. It may be tradition for these dances to be held; a way to build relationships, a way to test out potential matches. Lucius Malfoy was dancing with his fiancé, Narcissa Black. Alice Yaxley had been swept away by Evan Rosier. Harry could even make out his brother dancing with Lucinda Talkalot. However the Dark Lord never danced. Not in all his years had he ever once invited a single person to dance. He had, however, rebuffed and denied a fair few offers in his time.

Harry tensed as hands came to rest on his hip and on his shoulder. His eyes flicked up as he was pulled into the dance against his will. The green clashed with the brown. Harry’s breath caught in his chest as he felt a wave of something rush over him. An emotion he could not place, feelings he did not quite understand.

The Dark Lord pulled Harry closer, his arm tightly pulling his waist toward him. Harry couldn't even blink. He was so close to the man, his breath, his eyes, his very being. They seemed to consume him. The very power from the man before him was overwhelming. It was intoxicating. Harry was finding it hard to breath. Voldemort pulled him across the dance floor.

Harry knew how to dance, of course, but his skills paled in comparison to the man that held him. The sheer intensity in each step. The commitment to the movements, the way he forced Harry’s each and every move. The man was a river and Harry was little more than a raindrop that had fallen into the pulling currents. He could feel himself being washed away. He was loosing himself as each step was taken.

Harry pushed back against it. He would not get lost. He would not let himself be consumed. He could feel the magic of the Dark Lord rippling around him, demanding that he submit. Harry did not. His own magic sparked to life, forcing the other’s power back. He shielded himself from the power that was radiating from the being before him. Harry may not want to get in trouble, he may not want to appear to be a threat, but he would not let anyone rid him of his sense of self. He was who he was. No one was allowed to take that from him. Not even the Dark Lord.

Every set of eyes in the room was on the pair, the fluidity of their movements, the grace and the power that flowed in each of them. Many pairs halted in their movements, entranced by the scene that played out before them. The pressure of their magic filled the room, each step causing fluctuations. It was breathtaking, it was consuming. Not one of them could look away as the two danced. It was a battle. It was an artwork.

Harry clenched his teeth as he felt the strain of the movements; his power was weakening with each twirl that he took, each turn stealing the strength from him. Harry’s legs weakened, his mind fluttering as the struggle became almost to much. As Harry felt that he could fight no longer, the magic left, the dance over. Harry stumbled, held up by the hand that was still on his waist.

“Lets go” the Dark Lord growled out into his husbands ear. Harry’s eyes had snapped closed of their own volition, his heart pounding as he was dragged from the room. Every set of eyes watched the pair go. No-one dared follow.

Harry was dragged up a set of stairs and a door was flung open. His eyes snapped open as he was pushed against a wall. Hot lips were on his in a second. The adrenaline pumping through Harry’s veins was still strong, his fight or flight reactions intense as he felt the lips on his. He had not lost, he had not submitted. HIs mind screamed at him not to fall into the same patterns that he had been in before. He was not weak. He was more than a toy.

Harry’s hands came to Voldemort’s chest before he even had a chance to think. He pushed. The lips were freed from his, the Dark Lord stumbling back at the unexpected movement of the body beneath him. Harry made his way past the stunned man, toward the door.

He felt a hand grab at his wrist, pulling him back, trapping him into a situation that he did not want to be in. The thoughts of entrapment, of suppression all piled upon him. He needed to be free. That was all that Harry had ever wanted. His instincts screamed at him, his voice reflecting the internal battle that raged within him.

“NO!” Harry screamed. The sound was loud, harsh and grating. His face was red, his breath harsh and his eyes dangerous as he turned to look at his husband. The Dark Lord was reminded of a wild animal, cornered and dangerous. He took a step forward, his hand still clutching at the wrist he had a grip on.

“No!” the young man before him yelled again, steeping back. He pulled his wrist violently away from the harsh grasp. The Dark Lord, however, did not let go. His grip only tightened. He watched as Hercules’ eyes only became wilder, panic seemingly taking over each aspect of his form.

Harry flicked his free wrist, thankful that his right arm was not the one encased by the strong arm of his husband. A wand appeared in the pale palm with a soft thud as skin hit wood. Before the Dark Lord had time to blink a quick spell shot from the darkened wood. A red flash of light shot through the air, targeted at Voldemort. However, reflexes honed of years of experience blocked the spell in an instant; no wand required. The Dark Lord easily waved the spell away, the red sparks scattering across the stone floor.

Harry’s eyes widened in shock as his husband quickly dispersed the spell with ease. Harry tightened his grip on his wand before another muttered spell was shot through the air. A similar situation occurred as the spell was dismissed before it got more than a foot through the air.

The Dark Lord’s gaze was one of anger and excitement, viciousness and anticipation, hostility and elation. The man’s gaze was seemingly an utter contradiction yet his form still radiated decisiveness. Harry had no idea how to react. His spells were useless. His rebellion was futile. Yet it seemed that the man before him was as unpredictable as an uncaged tiger; attack or simply move on. There was no guarantee of safety.

The Dark Lord strutted forward, thrusting Harry harshly against the wall. Harry raised his wand in preparation for the attack, ready to fire off the spell. Yet the wand was rapidly knocked from his hand; the clatter of the wood on the floor an audible reminder of the vulnerable situation that Harry was now in. Harry flinched.

“Stop” the word was harsh in Harry’s ear. The breath was hot on his neck. Harry went rigid at the sound that was little more than a hiss. A pale finger trailed along his face as the other tightened on his shoulder. A hand gripped his chin, drawing their eyes together.

Harry didn't know what came over him. Maybe it was the wine still left in his system or maybe it was the Black insanity that had finally found the optimum monument to take over. Whatever it was Harry gave a look that he had never given anyone before; defiance. Harry glared at the man before him, his killer green eyes daring his husband to do something, anything. Harry brought a hand up, and without thinking he slapped the pale fingers away from his chin, a snarl curling on his lips. Harry pushed himself out of the other man’s grasp; making his way from the unfamiliar room.

The hand still grasped upon his shoulder, however, wouldn't let him go so easily. The fingers dug into the skin under the robes. The Dark Lord bared his teeth and pulled the slim figure back toward him.

“You do not walk away from me” the voice growled out in little above a whisper. It was a voice that promised pain. However it seemed that Harry’s fear of pain was no longer an issue. In fact Harry’s mind was blank; nothing seemed to be scary anymore.

“What are you going to do?” Harry tilted his head to the side, as thought the question were a real one. “Kill me?” he laughed emptily. Tears were in the corner of his eyes even as the sound from his mouth. “No” the young man choked out, more to himself than the stunned man before him. “That would be a waste of a perfectly good slave, now, wouldn't it.”

Harry spat the words out bitterly, feeling sick even as they left his mouth. Harry pushed past the man that seemed frozen to the spot, Voldemort’s eyes lost in thought at his husband’s words. Hercules no longer seemed to care for his own wellbeing as he pushed past the Dark Lord to pick up his wand before storming from the room.

The Dark Lord only watched him go. As the door slammed shut with a bang a frustrated huff left his lips. He didn't know what to do. This was not a situation that the Dark Lord usually found himself in. He was trying to make an effort with his young husband. Yet as he had held the boy and felt his magic sparking against his skin, fighting with his; he had lost control. The spark of magic in the air had raised feelings in him that he thought he did not possess. As he had held the boys eyes he felt a possessiveness for the raven haired man clutched to him. He had felt a wave of lust burn through his body. He had wanted nothing more than to fuck the boy until he could no longer remember his own name.

It seemed that his loss in control had cost him the patience of his husband. That was, problematic. The prophesy required for the boy to love him. Victory was everything to the Dark Lord. He wanted to rule the wizarding world; to hold dominion over all. He knew that he would do whatever it took to realised his dream. If that meant causing the boy to fall in love with him, then he would do that.

The Dark Lord could do charming; he could make the boy fall for him if he needed to. Voldemort took a deep breath, regulating his thoughts. Voldemort was over fifty; he had not attempted to woo someone since his school days. He found himself realising that he was, for lack of a better word, rusty. He needed to be more, well, romantic was a word he was reluctant to use.

His threats were seemingly useless against Hercules. If the young man’s comments were anything to go by it seemed that fear was no longer a powerful motivator for him. Instead he needed the young man to feel something that he had never felt before; appreciated. Voldemort was not stupid, it was apparent to him that the young man had no respect from or for his family. Their wedding day had made it clear that the young man seemingly also had little to no friends. Voldemort needed to make the man feel that he was valued and wanted for who he was. It was the only way that the young man would ever come to love him.

The Dark Lord took a breath, straightened his robes and ran a hand through the perfectly neat hair. He opened the previously slammed door and made his way back down to the party. His presence would otherwise be missed.

* * *

Harry’s heart hammered as he continued his way down the corridor, heading toward any possible exit. He needed to get out, he needed to escape. His head was swimming in panic as he attempted to come up with a plan that would avoid his own death or serious injury. His breath was coming rapidly, his heart beating far faster than was healthy.

He somehow managed to find an exit, the cool breeze on his skin doing nothing to calm him down. His feet hit violently against the floor as he ran, faster than he ever thought possible. He found a set of gates and attempted to push his way through them. He could not. His arms jolted harshly against the harsh metal. Harry looked up. It seemed there was only one way out.

His mind was clouded as he pulled his way up the vine covered gate. If he had had any common sense remaining under the increased heart rate he would have realised that intruder wards were not just meant for those trying to enter a property, but for those attempting to escape it as well.

However this realisation hit him, literally, as he moved a leg across the top of the spiked gate. A wave of magic attacked Harry as he leaned over, getting closer to freedom. He was flung backwards, harshly falling the eight feet to the floor. Harry’s whole body sang in pain as it thudded to the floor. His head cracked audibly on the stone path. Blood blossomed from the wound and Harry was no longer able to keep his eyes open.

An indefinite amount of time passed with Harry unable to see anything; his head spinning. He barely managed to cling onto consciousness. However as he felt the blackness taking over and awareness abandoning him Harry thinks he feels a pair of arms surrounding him and a sooting voice telling him that everything will be okay.

* * *

A gentle hand stroking through his hair is how Harry is awoken. Confused and hazy green eyes flickeed, straining to see. However what they do see does not make them any less confused. Harry finds his head resting in a lap. The owner of said lap was the one running their hand through his messy hair. Harry attempted to sit, his position being an uncomfortable one. However he was halted in his movements. A gentle hand pushing him back into his position and a voice he recognised speaking to him. However it was a tone that he did not recognise.

“Don’t move.” It was said gently, not a tone of anger that Harry had come to expect from the Dark Lord. “Your injuries are still healing.”

Harry’s eyes widened in shock and trepidation as he hears the voice. A small shuddered breath is released without his consent as the hand continues to stroke gently through his hair. Time ticked by, the seconds stretching into minutes as Harry dared not say a word. He was vulnerable. His whole body was stiff with nervous energy that refused to leave him, no matter how much he regulated his breathing.

Voldemort gave an almost imperceptible frown that went unseen by Hercules as the young man remained in his forced position. It seemed that he would have to take this far more slowly than he had expected. A kind voice and a soothing hand, it seemed, did little to reassure Hercules. As he sat there, Voldemort had failed to take into account the impact that reputation had on any individual. His past actions would also have a significant impact.

Voldemort stood, removing the head from his lap and placing it on the back.

“Sleep” he said. Then internally flinched as he realised that his voice had been harsher than e intended. “You need to sleep to heal” he said more gently this time. He then turned; not looking back as he slowly left the room. He retreated to his office where he sat at his desk. He thought of Hercules.

The Dark Lord knew that he had not treated the boy well so far. He was not so arrogant that he could not admit when he was at fault. He also knew that in some cases the best way to get what one wanted was not through threat but through seduction. However for this path to be a viable one he would need to put in a lot of work. He would need to break through the preconceived perception that Hercules had of him. Due to the stories that his parents and schoolmates had told him and through his own actions. However the Dark Lord would do it. Lord Voldemort always got what he wanted; in the end.


	8. Chapter 8

Harry let out another sigh as he walked down the corridor. He was more frustrated then he could remember being in a long time. The whole situation seemed ridiculous. How the hell was he supposed to go on a date with the Dark Lord? The whole thing was insane. He had barely been out of the house during summer and now he was expected to go to a restaurant full of the elite of the wizarding world, watched from every angle.

However that was not what was throwing Harry off the most.He was used toeing forced into uncomfortable situations. No, it was the attitude that the Dark Lord seemed to have adopted over the last week that was making Harry feel as though he was in deep water, not knowing how to swim. The man had made a whole one hundred and eighty degree turn in personality. He was treating Harry as though he was delicate and would shatter like so much glass crunched underfoot. The man was, for lack of a better word, insane. He had been following Harry around for the past few days; escorting him to meals and watching his every step. Harry didn't know how to respond. The man was saying very little but Harry felt the concerned eyes following him everywhere.

What had been even more off putting thing had been the gifts. Harry was really not sure what to make of them. He had woken up two days ago to a large bouquet of flowers; pink and white roses scattered amongst white carnations, dahlias, ivy and large pink peonies. The flowers making up the bouquet were a clear message, each flower displaying its own unique message. Harry’s pureblood heritage had ensured that he had read the message loud and clear. The new flowers had easily replaced the bouquet of sunflowers that Harry had received only three days prior. Another even more extravagant gift had arrived in the form of a ring. It much resembled the muggle tradition of a wedding ring, fitting perfectly onto Harry’s left ring finger. It was evidently a rather extravagant gift. It was platinum with diamonds inlaid all around the circumference of the ring. They sparkled in the light with each movement of Harry’s hand. On the inside the inscription ‘victoriam in caritate’ was engraved in delicate cursive. Harry had worn the ring, pretending to himself that he had not noticed the similar ring encircling the Dark Lord’s own finger. Neither of them had mentioned it.

With the bouquet of flowers that Harry had received, was an accompanying note that told of the date that Harry was invited to. The time had arrived far sooner than Harry wished, forcing itself upon him in only a few hours. That was the reason for Harry rushing from his rooms in what resembled a panic. He needed to find Fenrir, the wolf would know what to do. Fenrir would be able to coach Harry through the mind fuck that was the Dark Lord being remotely nice to him.

Harry pushed his way through the doors of the manor and made his way into the forest, his feet pounding heavily on the floor in a desperate run. He soon found himself in the familiar location of the werewolf pack’s territory. It had become Harry’s sanctuary over the past week, after he and Fenrir had talked out their problems at the ball. The Dark Lord’s new found attitude, seemingly allowed Harry the freedom to spend time with the wolf. However the time was limited. Harry knew that he needed to be back before any meal, or the Dark Lord would be there to retrieve him. However his retrieval now lacked the torture that had previously marred their encounters.

Harry rushed to where he knew Fenrir spent most of his time. None of the people that stood and sat around the clearing halted his movements; knowing where it was that he was going.

“Fenrir” Harry called out, knocking on the door of the small cottage that belonged to the wolf. The village of the werewolves was situated behind the clearing that Harry had initially discovered, hidden by the trees. Each wolf had their own accommodation, however many preferred to spend their time outside in the open, allowing their wolf the freedom that it desired.

Fenrir pulled the door open, a grin puling at his lips as he pulled Harry into a hug and into the cottage.

“You don't need to knock Harry” the silver haired man broke the hug. “Come on in.”

Fenrir pulled Harry’s hand, leading him into the simple cottage. It was small, but homely. The whole thing was only one room, a bed was pushed against one wall. A small kitchen consisting of a stove, a few scruffy counters and a cold, magic, storage unit. Shelves littered the walls, filled with various foods, clothes and verbs; both magical and non-magical. However the best part of the cottage was the large scruffy sofa that was situated in front of a constantly roaring fire. Several animal skins littered the floor before the couch, as well as strewn across it. Harry was pulled to said sofa and pushed down onto it.

“So what’s the matter, little Harry?” Fenrir smiled as he crossed his legs onto of one of the deerskins, turning to look at Harry.

“Well” Harry hummed indecisively. “The Dark Lord asked me on a date tonight, well I say asked, asking is not really his…thing” Harry brought his thumb to his mouth, beginning to chew at his nail.

“What do I do?” was mumbled behind the nail.

Fenrir tried to contain the laugh, however it bubbled from his mouth, the smile spreading across his face. He brought his hands up to cover it, the laughter still huffing behind his hands. However as he saw the scowl that marred Harry’s face he managed to contain himself. He cleared his throat, forcing his lips to be straight. Fenrir let out a deep breath as his lips threatened to curl again.

“Sorry Harry” Fenrir struggled as he attempted to prevent any further laughter. “It’s just…I can’t imagine the Dark Lord on…a date.” Fenrir lost the fight as another laugh broke free with his last words. He found tears forming in his eyes as a snort ripped from his nose.

A smile pulled at Harry’s lips as he watched the werewolf before him fall apart with laughter. The image that Fenrir had suggested flickered into his head. The Dark Lord dressed in formal robes, a nervous smile on his face, a bunch of flowers in his hand and a slight blush on his cheeks. Harry’s smile spread further and soon he found himself engulfed in laughter as violent as that of the silver haired man before him.

It was several minutes before the two composed themselves. Harry had slid from the sofa, resting with half his body on the floor. His head was resting on a bear skin on the floor, while his legs were hooked over the edge of the sofa. He grinned up at the wolf that looked down at him.

“Wat ya doin down there Harry?” the man grinned back, with a tilt of his head.

Harry stuck out his tongue in response, holding out a hand; a demand for help in regaining a sitting position. Fenrir obliged pulling Harry up and repositioning the man’s legs over his lap.

“Feeling better?” Fenrir asked.

Harry gave a hum of agreement, running his hands through his hair as he smiled at the man before him.

“As long as he doesn't look like a simpering teenager on his first ever date, I think I’ll be okay.” Harry said with a huff, as the image of a smitten Voldemort once again came into his head.

Harry pulled his legs from Fenrir’s lap and shuffled closer to the wolf. He rested his head on the silver haired man’s shoulder and let out a sigh, filled with relief and contentment.

“Thanks Fen, you always know how to make me feel better.”

Harry could only afford another ten minutes with the werewolf before he had to make his way back to the manor. His date was looming. He needed to get ready. Harry headed back to his room and after a quick shower he dressed in a set of well fitting black dress robes. Silver embroidered leaves spread across the front of the material in delicate patterns. He tied his matching silver tie around the collar of his white shirt, examining himself in front of the full length mirror. He had given himself only ten minutes to spare, which he used to gently run a comb through his unruly hair. However he was mostly attempting to settle the nerves that fluttered in his stomach; using the repetitive motion of the comb.

Harry was snapped from the repetitive motion as the door leading to the Dark Lord’s study was pushed open to reveal the very man. He looked a tad aggravated, however seemed to clear the look from his face as his eyes met Harry’s form. The man was dressed in clothing that seemed to compliment Harry’s; well fitting and evidently expensive. Charcoal robes with matching trousers sat well with the black shirt and tie that accompanied them.

“Hercules” The Dark Lord’s face attempted neutrality. “You are ready to go?” It was worded as a question. It was not one. However the words held far less aggression than they would have a done a week ago. They were not violent or demanding, merely matter of fact.

“Yes, My Lord” Hercules agreed, looking through his eyelashes.

“We are traveling by floo Hercules.” As he said it the man began to make his way back to his office. Harry followed suit. Soon the pair were engulfed in green flame, arriving in a restaurant known for its extraordinary cliental and its near extortionate prices.  
  
As Harry’s feet hit the floor, an arm firmly wrapped its way around his waist. Harry looked up to the Dark Lord. The man’s mood already seemed lifted. However rather than his attention being on Harry, it was instead on the woman that nervously stood before the pair.

“Welcome to ‘Le Sanctuaire’, please follow me to your table” the girl easily said the well rehearsed words as she anxiously lead the two men to their table, before setting their menus before them.

“Can I get you anything to drink, sirs?” the girl asked. Harry was impressed with her confidence. The fact she was able to ask the Dark Lord direct questions without her voice trembling was a testament to her courage.

Harry assumed that he had no choice in his selection of drink and simply let his eyes roam over the french words that filled menu. His eyes skittered over the prices and he held back the wince at the three figures that sat next to the name of each dish. He was used to fine dining, but even for his family this sort of meal was reserved for a special occasion. However he was interrupted from his browsing by the Dark Lord.

“Hercules” Harry raised his head at the unexpected address. “Is there anything you wish to drink?” Harry blinked at the question, the words taking a moment to process.

“Ummm” He murmured dumbly. He quickly flicked to the drinks page, rapidly scanning for anything that remotely appealed to him. Harry had no idea what any of the wines were, let alone if the Dark Lord would like them.

“Well…I…” Harry was stumped. He didn't want to embarrass his husband with a ridiculous choice of wine. However his mind was blank for a suitable choice.

“I would suggest a bottle of Chateau Margaux” The Dark Lord rescued. Harry let out an almost imperceptible sigh of relief. “It’s a rather good vintage.”

“Yes that sounds fine” said Harry, glad that the decision had been taken away from him.

Their drinks quickly arrived, Harry being poured a small taster of wine into his glass. Harry took a small sip. Wine was to something that Harry was to at all well versed in. However the wine did taste rather pleasant to his uncultured pallet.

“Acceptable?” the Dark Lord questioned

Harry gave a small nod and a hum of appreciation as his response. The Dark Lord seemed satisfied with it. He singled to the waiter to pour wine into his own glass. The Dark Lord looked toward the waiter again as she finished pouring the wine.

After Harry’s previous hesitation the Dark Lord quickly ordered an array of starters and mains for the pair. The assumption of sharing was evident. Harry had no reason to protest. In fact he was a little relieved about the entire situation. He was rather reluctant to order anything in case of mockery that may follow from the Dark Lord or the groups of people that littered the dining room.

Casting his gaze across the room he noticed several faces he recognised. Lucius Malfoy was sitting with his soon to be wife Narcissa Black. The pair, however, seemed to be only concentrating on each other. Avery the younger, Aldric, Harry believed he was called, was seated with his wife Monica and their two daughters Aurelia and Penelope. Harry recognised Aurelia, the girl being a third year Slytherin. He was sure that he had heard that Penelope would staring first year that September.

Harry took a breath. Why had the thought not occurred to him before? Would he be going back to Hogwarts next year? Would the Dark Lord allow it? Did he even want to go back? He really had no idea. The thought crashed upon his like a wave. Why had be never thought about this before? He knew that he wanted to get his NEWTs. Harry had done well in his OWLs; he had taken nine and got Os in all of them.

He had started his NEWT courses last year. He had decided to take Transfiguration, Potions, Charms, Herbology and Defence Against the Dark Arts, with an aim to become a healer once he graduated. However he had not planned for all the shit that had occurred in the last few months. If he was allowed to go back to Hogwarts would he even be permitted a career after he graduated? These were things that hadn’t crossed his mind until he had seen the two young girls sitting at the table; probably discussing the excitement of the new school year.

“Your day has been a pleasant one Hercules?” The Dark Lord pressed his way into Harry thoughts, but it seemed that Harry was too lost in them to respond immediately.

“Hercules?” Distracted, Harry looked over the rim of his glass, his eyes widening slightly. He thoughts were still not focused what was around him. So he didn’t quite register what was coming out of his mouth as he spoke.

“I want to go back to Hogwarts.” A beat of silence before his mouth ran away with his again. “I want to be a healer.” Harry’s hand shot to his mouth as he realised what he had just said.

“Your food sirs” Interrupted the wide eyed look that had engulfed Harry’s face.

The Dark Lord gave a deep glare at the woman as she rapidly set down the dishes. She moved from the table as fast as she could; as though the hounds of hell were at her heels. It was very much the right decision.

The Dark Lord looked from the food and then back to Hercules. He repeated the motion before pushing the plate away with a small nudge.

“It would not be proper-“ Hercules interrupted.

“But…but, I’ve always wanted to help people and-“

“Hercules you would be in danger, Dumbledore is-“

“Can’t you…can’t you send someone. The Defence position is always open each year and-“

“You do not understand how serious the situation is Hercules. We can discuss this at home; In private.”

“But I-“

“Not here Hercules. You will listen to me.”

“Of course My Lord” Harry spat out bitterly.

The rest of the meal was awkward. Harry ate reluctantly, barely tasting the food as he swallowed. He didn’t look at the man before him and didn’t touch the wine glass that was still set by his plate. He felt angry. Why hadn’t the Dark Lord given him a chance to explain? He wanted to live his life and experience everything that he could, free from the Black cloud of his family. It seemed he was trapped in this new cage of marriage.

* * *

  
The next week was bad. Harry was frustrated beyond belief. He had not talked to the Dark Lord since the dinner and due to the man’s new found motivation to get Harry to like him the man was unwilling to do anything that might anger Hercules further. He attempted to send the young man another dinner invitation in which he had planned to discuss the matter that had arisen in the first. Not that Harry was aware of this.

Harry had refused to enter the manor since his return from the stupid restaurant, whatever pretentious name that the owner had deemed fit to call it. Harry hadn’t cared to remember. Instead he had spent the last week in the woods with Fenrir and the rest of the pack. He had successfully evaded capture by the Dark Lord and it seemed the man had given up on attempting to force Harry to meals after the first few days.

Harry spent his days playing with the cubs and making friends with the children that were tasked with overseeing the group of younger ones during the day. Most were a few years younger than Harry; around thirteen or fourteen, but Harry got along with them really well.

Harry had really hit it off with almost all of the younger ones who seemed to cling to him. Harry assumed it was the fact that he had spent the past seven days doing little more than indulging in their whims; letting them pull him along on all manner of adventures. However he thought that he really felt a connection with four of the older children.

Autumn was a young woman with long shaggy brown hair that tended to flop over her face. She was a little dreamy at times and always seemed to be thinking about something more. She seemed to notice things that others overlooked and was massively insightful for a fourteen year old. She saw what was on Harry’s mind before he himself could even recognise what it was that he was feeling. She was the first person that Harry thought that he could call a friend; a true one.

She had been the first person that had introduced herself the day that Harry had fled to the woods away from his unreasonable husband. Fenrir had been away on a mission if some sort and Harry had learned that the wolf would not be back until that evening. Harry had sat on a log by a fire that had long since burned out. He stared at the ashes in contemplation. A form had placed itself by his side without a sound. Harry hadn’t even noticed the footsteps.

“Chocolate?” The word seemed so out of place. Harry looked up to see the form of Autumn holding out a small bar of what looked like Honeydukes chocolate. The gold foil was crinkled and the paper torn. It looked as though the girl had had the bar for a while. Maybe saving it for a special occasion and here she was offering it to him.

“I couldn’t-“ Harry had tried to explain. But she had paid him no mind. She had already ripped the wrapper from the chocolate and handed him half of the bar, while she held the other.

“It’ll make you feel better” she had insisted.

Fenrir had not returned that night and so Harry had spent his night with Autumn and the rest of the parentless children in one of the cabins that littered the small village. This one was filled with sets of bunkbeds, toys scattered across the floor. Harry had accepted the bottom bunk that had been offered to him as well as the change of clothes into something more comfortable. He had fallen asleep feeling warm.

The second person that Harry had clicked with was Landon. He was only twelve but had a love for animals more than Harry had seen with anyone. He had a pet polecat by the name of George that he had raised from a young pup. A fox by the name of Francesca was always around his ankles, nipping at the children; encouraging them to play. The boy’s pockets were also filled with a hedgehog by the name of Georgina and a field vole; Albert. However the boy seemed to have a new animal with him every few days.

Harry had been part of one of the experiences with one of these temporarily adopted animals. Harry had discovered a blue bird that had broken its wing chirping wildly on the floor as it attempted to seek out saviour from the imminent death that was sure to take it. Harry had stepped toward the small creature, unsure of what to do. However just as he had been about to pick it up a voice had objected.

“I wouldn’t” a light and lyrical voice had called out. “You might only end up damaging its wing more.” Harry had only been able to stare and give a small nod as the boy had rushed forward to care for the injured boy.

He had soon managed to create a sturdy looking splint on the creatures wing as he cradled the small blue bird in his palm. It let out tired trill before settling itself into the boy’s hand. All the while the polecat and the fox that the boy had with his sniffed around both the boy and the bird; although there was no aggression in their actions.

Harry had spent the rest of the week approaching Landon to check up on the blue bird. In that time Harry had been introduced to the rest of the animals in Landon’s cohort. Landon had also shown Harry how to care for the bluebird that seemed to gain confidence and strength with each day. In fact, only that morning it had flown off with a happy chirp. Landon was approachable and compassionate. His empathy was not limited to that of animals. Even though Harry was older the boy seemed to have adopted him as he did with his wounded animals.

Next was Kumi who looked much younger than she actually was. At fourteen she was only just scraping five feet tall. Although she made up for it with her take-no-shit attitude. She and Harry had bonded over their mutual hatred of their less than optimal height.

The first few days that Harry had been with the pack he had let the children drag him about on all their adventures and stunts, even if Harry had not felt comfortable with them. They would make him play hide and seek, while he caught in an area he was unfamiliar with. It mean that he had to spend hours looking over terrain that he had no idea of the nature of. It was not something that Harry had enjoyed. That was until Kumi had come over to him.

“Just because you’re short doesn’t mean that you can let them boss you around.” she had squared her shoulders and had looked at him with determined eyes.

“Ummm…I’m not sure what you mean.” Harry had tilted his head.

“I mean” she had clipped a hand across his head with just enough force to get his attention. “that you can tell them if you don’t want to do something.”

“Oh” Harry rubbed the spot where she had hit him. “Well, I’ll try.” He had given her a weak smile and she had responded with a small huff. It was the start of a beautiful friendship.

Sparrow was the last member of the people that seemed to have embraced Harry into the pack. Sparrow was, well, Sparrow was Sparrow. Sparrow had chin length brown hair which was constantly being run through by fingers that were often coated in mud or moss from one of the numerous and dangerous adventures that Sparrow had decided to go on.

Harry had been on one of these adventures. Sparrow had dragged Harry to a small stream at the deep in the forest with the intent of exploring the almost undisturbed area. However the issue had been that the bank of the stream had been at the bottom of a rather deep gorge that the pair had to scramble down to get to the banks.

Using tree branches and roots the pair had scrambled their way down the side of the gorge. However about half way down Harry had misstepped. His foot had slipped and he had hurtled down the side of the gorge. A rock had caught his arm on the way down causing a rather large from about half way up his forearm to his elbow. Harry had landed in the rather shallow river with a splash and a wince.

“Not very good at this whole adventuring thing are you?” Sparrow had laughed before giving Harry a wide grin. Harry couldn’t help but smile in response to the wide, good natured smile that lit up Sparrow’s face.

“Come on then Buzz Aldrin, lets get you fixed up.” Harry looked confused.

“Who’s Buzz Aldrin?”

“Second man on the moon” Sparrow grinned.

“Why am I not the first?” Harry questioned as he pushed himself up from where he had fallen in the water.

“Well you can’t be the first, I’m the first, obviously.” Harry gaze a small snort at the narcissism of the comment. “Come along Buzz”

Sparrow had wrapped Harry’s arm in some spare bits of cloth in the bag they had brought with them. After the long walk back Fenrir had managed to heal the gash. Although the skin was still pink around the area of the cut.

Harry had spent his evenings, other than the first, in Fenrir’s cabin; sleeping on the sofa, of course. He had spent long hours chatting with the wolf and discussing everything under the sun. Harry felt content. He had friends, true friends, real friends, for the first time in his life. He had people that genuinely cared about him. It seemed to him that he could just be Harry here in this woodland haven. He didn’t bare the burden of being Hercules Black, the husband of the Dark Lord with all the pressures that surrounded such a role. He could just be himself.

However with all great things it seemed that his time in the woods must come to an end, even if it was only for a short time. For the next two days the camp would be off limits to any non-werewolves due to the full moon. It seemed that Harry would have to retreat to the manor or risk his own death. He was on the fence about which way to go.

That was how Harry found himself trekking along the gravel path up to the manor for the first time in seven days. He squeezed his eyes shut in frustration; his fists clenched. He did not want to see the Dark Lord. He was in fact surprised that the man had not forced him from the woods earlier. The Dark Lord must have been tracking the lunar cycle far closer than Harry had been. He knew that Harry would be forced back into the house that he hated, sooner rather than later.

* * *

Harry stepped into the dining room. He hadn’t bothered to change. He was still in the ragged and dirt pocked jeans and short sleeved t-shirt that was marred with flecks of his own blood from his rough play and tumble with Sparrow. The clothes had been washed, but there was only so much that water and soap could do and Harry had little concern about his own appearance at the moment. There was also dirt under his nails and he was sure that his hair was far messier that any one, even himself, had ever seen it before. His feet were bare. He didn’t care.

He set himself in his seat; pride of place, he thought sarcastically. It was a place that many would kill to sit in whereas Harry was sure that the only way he’d be able to get out of it was through his own death. Eyes pinned him down, watching his every step. Well, at least this time they had something to look at. Let them talk, let them say whatever they wanted about the ghastly state that he was in. Harry didn’t care anymore.

The Dark Lord looked up as Hercules let himself plop ungracefully in the chair next to his. The man’s face was a storm as he saw the appearance of his husband. Harry’s presence had been actively missing for the past seven days and now he had appeared looking like a poor street urchin. The man was not impressed. He stood.

“I believe that Hercules and I will be eating elsewhere this evening.” The Dark Lord grasped his husband’s wrist and pulled him up out of his seat. He dragged him along the length of the table and out of the room; each set of eyes upon the pair. Although, Harry noticed that the grip lacked the bruising quality that had been present on previous occasions of such an action. As the door to their quarters was slammed open the Dark Lord tugged Harry in behind him.

“Get yourself clean and change your clothes. I will not speak to you when you are in such a state.” The man sneered, a disgusted look on his face as his eyes raked the young man’s form.

Harry’s head dropped, the sneer pulling at his lips effectively hidden from view. He just felt so angry at the man before him. All the time he was around him he had to restrain himself from punching him straight in the noise. He wanted to rejoice in the sound that would vibrate through his fist as the nose crunched against his knuckles. He didn’t quite understand these feelings. It was the first time in his life that he felt so angry that he could burst. He had never felt such a rage before.

He slammed the bathroom closed behind him before he quickly stripped himself from his clothes. He stormed to the bath, letting the water fill faster than would have usually been possible. Magic was marvellous. Harry sank into the perfectly heated water. He was glad of the time he now had. He let the soothing heat spread through him as his eyes fluttered closed, the satisfied feeling running over him.

The anger in him seemed to settle slightly and he focused on the task at hand. He wanted to go to Hogwarts and he wanted to make that clear to his husband. Husband. That word represented the equality that was supposed to be in their relationship. Harry knew that it would have been easy enough for the man to make Harry’s family give him over as a servant. He could have been nothing more than a slave to the Dark Lord in name and status. But the man had decided to marry Hercules. That was a declaration of equality. Harry didn’t know why that was the choice that the Dark Lord had chosen but he sure as shit wasn’t gonna let it pass him by.

Harry stepped out of the bath. He suddenly felt a wave of nervousness and trepidation ripple through him. He had no clothes. The ones that had been on the floor had already vanished and had not been replaced. He would have to walk through the room without his armour.

Harry had wanted to face the Dark Lord on his own terms. He had wanted to show the man that he was worth the status of equal that the man had, for some reason, deemed him as having. Yet here he was with only a towel wrapped around his waist. There were bruises and scratches across his usually pristine skin due to the rather rough play that he had been engaged in over the past few days. He looked like a child that had been outside with his friends into the late hours of summer. He supposed that was what he had been for the past week. He had been seeking out a childhood he had missed. The friends that he had never had. The experiences that he had never gained. He was angry that it was over.

Voldemort had let Harry dress and seat himself on the bed, without a word. Although there was still frustration and anger glittering in the Dark Lord’s eyes. Harry looked to the hands in his lap. All his confidence seemed to drain away before the dark brown orbs. Although the anger was still there. It bubbled low in his stomach, even if he could not find a way to free it.

“Hercules” his eyes briefly flickered up.

“You cannot go back to Hogwarts. It is unsafe. There are far too many factors that we cannot foresee. You are at risk from both pupils and staff alike. You will not be going.”

Harry clenched his teeth, before taking a deep breath. He had thought over what needed to be said. He, however did not think he could articulate them to the standard he wished at this very moment. But he needed to try. He couldn’t let his life be bulldozed by an over bearing authority figure, yet again. His mother had ruled his life till this point. Harry had always though he had a chance at freedom. To marry someone for love and live a life in a job he wished for.

However, that did not seem even a remote possibility now. His life would be controlled by the Dark Lord, forever, unless he did something about it. He had always let people walk over him, hoping that one day he would have his freedom. Yet, now it seemed that he had lost any chance at that freedom unless he took it. He needed it. He took a breath.

“It…It’s my life and I need to go back” He didn’t look up. “I can’t spend my life stuck in a place where no one wants me and I have nothing to do with myself.” Harry took a breath. “You could send Rodolphus, or maybe Macnair to teach defence if you are worried about my safety. Also there are several magic wolves in the pack that would happily attend with me.” Harry gripped the wrist of his shaking hand.

“Dumbledore could not do anything with so many of your Death Eater’s children in the school.” Now Harry was about to bring out the big guns. “In fact I think it would show Dumbledore how powerful you are. That even under his nose you can…” Harry gulped. The words were unsavoury in his mouth. “claim one of his students as your own and he can do nothing to stop you.” Harry breathed deeply.

“It will show him that you have more control over the school than he does.” Harry finished. He dared a glance up at his husband and was shocked at the grin that spread across the man’s face. It was not one of happiness.

“It seems, Hercules, that you have thought this through. Your argument is rather convincing. If you are willing to put this much thought into your argument, I suppose I may be able to rethink my position.” The man hummed in what seemed like contemplation but Harry knew that the man had already decided exactly what he was going to say.

“Rodolphus has already applied for the defence position. I believe that there are seven members of Fenrir’s pack that have accepted the proposal for them to attend Hogwarts. They will of course return to their lodging the days of the full moon.” Harry grit his teeth in frustration. It seemed that the Dark Lord had already predicted Harry’s plan down to the letter. The Dark Lord had wished to test him.

“You will arrive back here on Friday evenings and return to Hogwarts on Monday mornings before classes. No arguments.”

Harry gave a nod. At least he was going back to Hogwarts, he couldn’t help the small smile that pulled at the corner of his mouth, and this time he was going with friends.


	9. Chapter 9

“Hercules” Harry turned around from where he sat on the bench in the garden. His noes had been stuck in a book and he had not noticed the approaching footsteps that must have surely echoed from the Dark Lord who was now standing before him. Harry stood; attempting and failing to reach the same level as the man. He was too short by far. In different company he surely would have let out a frustrated sigh.

“Yes My Lord?” he questioned. It was the day after the man had agreed to let Harry attend Hogwarts. Harry didn’t want to irritate the man and further risk him barring Harry from Hogwarts again. The Dark Lord raised a brow at the respectful tone of the man before him.

“Hercules” the man paused. “I believe that you are in need of some preparation before your depart to Hogwarts.” Hercules gave a small nod. He was not sure what it was that the man was suggesting.

“I believe that the best course of action is for the next two weeks to be dedicated to training.” Harry’s eyes widened at that.

“M-my Lord?” Harry questioned. This was not what he had been expecting. Harry knew an array of spells and techniques however due to both Hogwarts curriculum and his parents expectations of him, Harry had had little chance to test out the skills that he had read about. His weak body had never lead to people thinking he had the capability to train or fight.

“You will be training in physical combat with Aldric Avery and his wife, Monica. I believe that there will be several others joining you in those sessions. However I have arranged additional fitness sessions for you with Antonin Dolohov. These will be individual.” Harry could only blink as the list continued.

“Severus has volunteered to address the identification and creation of some rather unpleasant potions. Additionally Lucius Malfoy is willing to train you in some spells that are equally as unpleasant.” Harry gave a small nod. He was going to be exhausted before he even started back at school.

“Finally, I, personally, shall be addressing your duelling education. Which start now.”

Harry looked at the man with a confused expression. Had he just said now? Harry was sure that’s what he had said. Harry blinked.

“Ummm…”

“Well, what are you waiting for?” The man barked at his husband. “Come along Hercules.” Harry gave a baffled nod before following after the man.

The pair were soon located in what was obviously a training room, even if it was not a room that Harry had seen before. In the centre stood a duelling platform. While along the sides of the room were numerous training dummies both enchanted and not.

“Let us begin”

The next hour was spent with Harry being taught basic duelling techniques; dodging, diving and evading most of the attacks that were sent at him. While also being told how to spot the weaknesses in an enemies armour and take advantage of them. Harry could not say that he was good at duelling. He was able to notice the things that the Dark Lord pointed out; seeing the gaps that the man purposefully left for him. He could not, however, act on them.

His aim was often off or his reactions were not quick enough. That had led to several nicks on his arms that had already stopped bleeding. Harry was also sure that there were many bruises to match. That was not to say that the man was not a good teacher. Harry was simply not used to this sort of activity. His instincts did not align with his body.

“Stop there Hercules.” Harry was panting and very grateful for the rest. He watched as the husband cum teacher approached him.

“It’s all in the stance Hercules.” The Dark Lord stepped closer.

“You see” he gently grasped the hand that still held Hercules wand. “your arm” He raised the arm. “needs to be held like this” he slightly adjusted Hercules’ wrist before he stepped behind his young husband.

“Your right foot” The Dark Lord set his hand lightly on the back of Harry’s knee before giving a light push. “Needs to be in front of your left.” Harry could feel the Dark Lord’s breath on the back of his neck. He swallowed nervously as the man continued to reposition Harry’s body.

“Your left” the Dark Lord now took Harry’s hips in his hands. He gently twisted, forcing Harry’s left foot to take a step back; his body to the side. His hip now brushed against the Dark Lord’s leg and Harry stifled a gasp at the contact. He was just showing him a stance. That’s all there was to it. It was just a lesson. That’s what Harry told himself.

“Now your left arm” Leaving one hand on Harry’s hip, the Dark Lord used the other to grasp Harry’s wrist. “You want to hold that out behind you. It’s for balance and detection of enemies behind you.” The movement of Harry’s arms stilled.

“Perfect” the Dark Lord whispered. Harry could feel the breath on his ear and his heart hammering in his chest. His breathing began to speed up. That tone of voice was not one that he had heard before from the man that now stood behind him.

The Dark Lord’s hand removed itself from Harry’s arm and resumed its previous position on his hip. The man’s fingers tightened slightly, but nowhere near the point of pain. The man’s breath moved from his ear to where Harry could feel it hot upon his neck. The hands pulled Harry closer to them and Harry’s body was soon flush against the man behind him.

Harry’s heart was hammering yet he didn’t feel scared. He could easily step from the grasp that the Dark Lord had him in. Yet it seemed that his body was frozen in place. He did not know what it was that he was feeling as a hand slowly pushed its way inside his robes. Each action that the man made seemed slow and calculated. It was though he was giving Harry a chance to protest. But the young man could do nothing. His mind was too confused as he felt the fingers find their way under his shirt and run gently along the skin of his stomach.

With no protest from the body before him Voldemort ran his hand further up his husband’s chest. His lips edged closer to the young man’s neck. His lips connected with the pale column of his skin. The Dark Lord could feel the heat radiating from the delicate skin. He ran his tongue along it as his hands pulled Hercules closer to him. His grip, however, was not tight. It was only firm.

If he was to seduce the young man he needed to be gentle. He needed his husband to know that if he wanted to reject his advances than the Dark Lord would not stop him. However causing pleasure for the young man would make him less likely to retreat. Yet at the current moment Voldemort was sure that Hercules was simply too shocked at that very moment to do anything other than stand there.

Harry felt the tongue on his neck. It was soon followed by a light suction on his pulse point. The motion was repeated slightly further down. Harry let out a small gasp at the feeling of the hot mouth on his neck. The feeling was not a bad one. In fact Harry found his head tilting to the side to further accommodate the Dark Lord’s attention on his neck. The hand under his shirt reached his nipple and the fingers danced across it as the mouth sucked another bruise onto his neck. Harry felt overloaded by the feelings. Harry was not sure why but there was pleasure in the hands upon his body. His breath was coming fast and as the tongue licked across the now bruised skin of his neck he felt his eyes flutter shut.

However they were soon snapped back open as the door to the training rooms opened with a bang. The door was behind Harry; to his back and that of the Dark Lord’s. Harry’s body spun round to look towards the now opened door. But it seemed that the Dark Lord was, as ever, ready far more quickly. The man Gripped his wand firmly, his other held back, indicating for Harry to stay where he was.

Before the pair who stood on the duelling platform there were a group of five wide eyed Death Eaters that were seemingly intent on using the duelling room. If their apparel was anything to go by. Harry recognised several of the group.

Standing at the from t of the group was one Dorian Nott. The twenty-two year old had been a Ravenclaw at the same time as Hercules had. Harry also recognised the man’s older brother, Jeremy. Although Harry had never met the man in person he had seen him at parties and as heir to the Nott title he had been someone talked about amongst many social circles. Harry thought that he had heard somewhere that the young man had been a Slytherin but he could not be sure. The other member of the group that Harry recognised was Lillian Rosier. She was closer in age to Harry at nineteen. Harry thought that she was engaged to the younger Nott. The remaining two in the group, however, Harry did not recognise.

Yet it seemed that the Dark Lord had no concern for who they were if the anger on his face was anything to go by. Leaving Harry on the platform with rather visible love bites on his neck the man made his way toward the five unwelcome visitors.

“What exactly are you doing here?” The Dark Lord barked out as he approached the group. His eyes were hard and his voice sounded vicious. Harry was once again reminded why it was that people were afraid of this man. Why he was afraid of this man. A small shiver ran its way down his spine.

But what was it that he had been feeling only minutes ago? That tingle. The thrumming of his heart had not been fear. Well, not only fear. There had been something else. Harry was not sure what that feeling had been. However he could no longer dwell on it, as the response to his husband’s command soon came.

“My Lord” the older Nott, Jeremy, bowed. “I apologise for the intrusion, we-“

“I did not ask you for excuses Jeremy, I asked for an explanation.” The Dark Lord spat out. Voldemort felt inexplicably angry at the group before him. Of course it was never acceptable to interrupt the Dark Lord, however at this moment the Dark Lord wanted to slit all of their throats and then pull their tongues out through the holes. He did not normally feel this angry at such a small infraction, even if his followers were infuriating.

“Ah, well My Lord. We usually use the training rooms at this time. But…” Jeremy looked between the Dark Lord and Harry with anxious eyes. “as you and Lord Hercules seem to be” he paused “training, we shall come back another time.”

The Dark Lord took a breath as the older Nott boy looked between him and his husband. He wished to smash his face into the stone floor and watch as his teeth fell out. However he took a breath; attempting to calm the magic that sparked under his skin. It would not do to loose his temper in front of Hercules.

“Now now Jeremy” his voice was much more gentle now. The sweet honey that lured the fly into the trap. “There is no need for that.” A thought flickered into his head. A suitable punishment for such an infraction, a chance for Hercules learn and an opportunity to make all five that had interrupted him suitably uncomfortable.

“As our training session has been interrupted I feel that it would be appropriate if you were all to train Hercules in my stead.” All five of them looked rather uncomfortable with the idea. Everyone other than Jeremy had been at Hogwarts with Hercules, not that the other boy knew it. They had heard talk of the last Black, the unwanted and weak runt of a strong family. They had a feeling that his duelling would reflect this weakness.

“Oh of course my Lord” Jeremy forced a smile onto his face. “Just leave him with us.”

The Dark Lord blinked in faux confusion as the young man spoke.

“Oh, I shall of course be staying to oversee the training. It would not do for my husband to be hurt now would it.” Voldemort smirked at the five before him.

“That sounds logical My Lord” Jeremy bowed.

“Well go on then. I’ll find myself a seat.”

Harry blinked as the five Death Eaters approached him. Some with sour looks on their faces that were now hidden from the Dark Lord.

“A pleasure, Lord Hercules” Jeremy said with smallest bow that he could give. He did not deem the boy before him to have earned his respect. “My name is Jeremy Nott, you may call me Jeremy.” He then pointed to his brother. “This is my brother Dorian” he pointed to the only girl of the group “and his fiancé Lillian Rosier.” Harry gave a small nod to each of them as he was introduced.

“Finally, these here are Perseus and Thomas Parkinson” Harry gave a nod and received one in return. The thought crossed his mind that Perseus, who looked around twenty-one was quite attractive. Yet he shook the thought from his head. He had, minutes before had the Dark Lord sucking bruises into his skin, that he was a hundred percent sure were still visible. This was no time to be thinking about how attractive other men were.

“Well then” Thomas, the younger Parkinson, said with a small smile. “Our plan today was to work on defensive spells. We’ve been looking at shield charms as well as looking at the Patronus charm. You know what that is right?”

Harry gave a nod

“You ever given it a go?” Thomas tilted his head.

“Ah…” Harry felt a tad embarrassed at the question. He looked away from the questioning eyes. “I…didn’t-have-a-happy-enough-memory” he mumbled quickly. The words were inaudible.

“Sorry, can you say that again?” This time it was Perseus that asked. Harry’s cheeks flushed as the people all stared at him quizzically.

“I didn’t have a happy enough memory.” he said slightly more coherently this time. Perseus gave a nod.

“Well, why don’t you try it again? I’m sure you have some happier memories now, huh?”

Harry gave a shy shrug. Five sets of eyes were on him, pressuring him into being happier than his life had been.

“Well I can try.” Harry said nervously.

“Jeremy, why don’t you and Thomas show Lord Hercules how it’s done. You two are the best at the charm. The rest of us will keep practicing on our own.” Perseus smirked at the other two boys.

The next half hour was awkwardly spent with the two young men attempting to teach Harry the patronus charm. Harry was unconvinced that he would have any memory that remotely resembled one that would produce the burst of white light from his wand.

Jeremy sighed in a small display of frustration as Harry once again failed to produce anything from the end of his wand. There was not even a spark.

“Lord Hercules, you need to think of something that made you so happy that you couldn’t think straight. That made your heart beat a little faster and you felt like you were going to float away. Please try Lord Hercules.” the young man begged.

Hercules’ face turned sour and anger filled his eyes as he looked to the older man before him. He sneered at the comment.

“Do you think I’ve not tried” he scoffed, looking at the older man with distaste. When no response was forthcoming Harry looked up to the other Death Eater that stood close by. His scowl deepened.

“Do you think that I have no tried.” He growled out, far more aggravated. “You think that my life has been easy.” He began to shout at the two young men before him. The three other Death Eater had now turned around to see what was happening.

“You think I’ve ever had that sort of feeling?!” Harry was now yelling at the top of his lungs. “You think I haven’t thought about having those type of memories!”

Harry’s arms came up and gave a harsh push against Jeremy’s chest; venting his anger and frustration. The man stumbled back several steps.

“What would know about my fucking life.” Harry raised a fist, intent on knocking several of the man’s teeth from his stupid mouth.

However before the fist could connect a strong hand gripped around his wrist. Harry froze.

“Hercules” The Dark Lord’s voice was gentle as he forced Harry to lower his arm. “I think that’s enough. I think you should take a minute.”

Harry could still feel the anger in his chest that wished to explode out. However he was not willing to risk his Hogwarts education for a simple outburst of anger.

“I’m going to go and rest.” Harry deflated. He walked from the room feeling angry and upset.

The Dark Lord watched him go with a feeling that couldn’t place. It was longing mixed with something close to sadness. He couldn’t shake the feeling that he wanted to give Hercules enough happy memories to be able to cast a patronus.


	10. Chapter 10

Lessons were in full swing. Harry was not being given any chance at free time with the hours that were being put into training him. The Dark Lord had given him a full schedule, the only times being left were for eating and sleeping. Harry was sure that this was some form of punishment. He was stopped from visiting Fenrir or any of his other new friends. It had been three days and it was already getting to him. If not for Severus, Harry thought that he may have already retreated to the woods and abandoned Hogwarts as a lost cause. Harry was thankfully having one of such rest sessions. He stood beside Severus in the potions lab, the young man, for all intents and purposes, teaching him the seventh year curriculum.

Harry was not bad at potions, achieving Os and Es in all of his assessments. Yet compared to Severus he felt like a new born foal; unable to walk without stumbling. The older man seemed to breeze through all the processes without a blink. It was as though it was second nature, as though he was born to make potions. Harry supposed that if one was already on their way to a potions mastery at eighteen then this was the sort of disposition that they would have had to hold.

“Severus slow done, I can’t keep up.” Harry rubbed the bridge of his nose. He could feel his aggravated pulse beneath his fingers. Even of these lessons were enjoyable due to the company, Severus was a harsh task master. He was not one to take failure and was very demanding of his student. Yet Harry supposed that if he could please Severus then he’d be able to please Slughorn. The man was a less than optimal teacher.

“I clearly stated that you can’t add the fairy wings until after you have crushed the nettles with the Castor oil. You then need to enchant the mixture. Only then can you add the fairy wings.”

Oh, that had been the problem. Harry gave a nod at the grumpy man that glowered at his mistake.

“Okay, sorry Severus. I see the problem.” Harry rubbed a hand across his face before turning his attention back to the potion. Harry followed Severus instructions and soon managed to complete the potion. Of course it was not as good as Severus’ own efforts would have been, but it was still passable.

Harry wiped the now greasy hair back from his face as he sat down. A tired sigh escaped his lips. He had finished bottling the potion and the harsh workout that he had done for the past three days, as well as that morning, was catching up with him. HIs muscles ached. In fact everything ached. Harry was sure that even his hair ached. Severus walked over to him and set a hand on the exhausted shoulder.

“He’s really putting you through your paces, huh?” Severus smirked as he spoke. Harry gave a huffed laugh.

“Oh yeah. I had to run five kilometres followed by a hundred sit ups and press ups this morning with Antonin. That’s not to say I managed it all. I stopped…a lot.” Harry rubbed his eyes. Tired at the mere thought of it.

“Monica and Aldric then forced me to do Karate and Kickboxing training with seven other Death Eaters.” Harry sighed. “After lunch I have to go and learn the cruciatus curse with Lucius. Then to top it all off I have Duelling practice with the Dark Lord.” Harry felt exhausted just speaking about it.

“What could be more fun?” Severus asked sarcastically. He gave Harry a sympathetic look. “We better make our way to lunch. Otherwise the Dark Lord will have my head.” Severus smirked. Harry gave a tired nod and the two set off toward the dining hall.

Harry set himself in his designated place next to the Dark Lord. He was too exhausted to fear the man. If this was what he felt like after three and a half days, he couldn’t bare to think how it would be after two weeks. All that Harry wanted to do was place his head on the plate before him and sleep. That was why Harry didn’t notice until the Dark Lord called his name for the third time.

“Hercules” the frustrated voice finally broke into Harry’s thoughts. He looked toward the man that was his husband with hooded eyes.

“Sorry My Lord” Harry blinked sleepily “What were you saying?” Harry felt his eyes close without his consent. He forced them back open.

“I was saying, Hercules, that I believe that we should put a hold on this afternoons lessons.” Harry nodded along, not really fully hearing the words. His brain was far too tired to keep facts straight.

“Eat your lunch Hercules, then I believe that you should rest as I wish to take you out for dinner.” Harry gave a nod. He found himself eating on autopilot and then he made his way toward his room before collapsing onto the bed, still fully clothed.

* * *

Harry was awoken unexpectedly by a gentle shake, his eyes fluttered before they opened to reveal an unwelcome face before his. The Dark Lord. He blinked again before he shuffled back, sitting up in an attempt to avoid the brown eyes that stared at him.

“M-my Lord, what…”

“Dinner Hercules” The Dark Lord waved a hand and the time appeared before them. “It seems you slept longer than expected. We have thirty minutes before the reservation. Come now. Get yourself ready.” With that the man turned from his husband’s confused form and headed towards the wardrobe, pulling it open.

“Hercules, go and have a shower.” Harry gave a quick nod and stumbled to the bathroom. However remembering last time he had entered semi-naked only to face a Dark Lord he thought better of it. He turned to his own wardrobe and grabbed a formal set of robes before heading back to the bathroom. The Dark Lord couldn’t hold back the smirk at his young husband’s actions. It was a shame he wouldn’t get to see his damp, nearly naked form.

Harry took a rather rapid shower. However he was careful to fully wash his hair. He knew from experience that using drying spells on partially wet hair had bad results. Bad and semi-permeant results. He still wanted to cover his face in embarrassment at the memory. Although the incident had been one of Sirius’ doing, rather than his own. However the results were not any less humiliating.

Harry stepped from the shower. He picked his wand from the pile of discarded clothing and cast the drying charm over himself. He let out a breath as his hair fell around his face. It was messy, but it was not the hideous mess that had, on a previous occasion, adorned his head. Harry ran his fingers through it in an attempt to tame the mess. Looking in the mirror he shrugged. It was as good as it would get without a lot more work, in time that he didn’t have.

Harry quickly stepped into his robes and scrubbed his teeth. He ran a hand through his hair once more. He was dressed and ready to depart in under fifteen minutes. He supposed that he better vacate the bathroom. The Dark Lord may wish to use it. Harry opened the door to the bathroom and stepped out.

However as his second step fell, he faltered. Standing with his back to the door was a partially dressed Dark Lord. However, it was not the naked skin that stopped him, but rather what was on it. On the man’s back were crisscrossed scars that numbered around a dozen. They were thin white lines, one of which ran from shoulder blade to small of back.

Harry’s view of the scars was soon blocked, however, as the man turned around. The Dark Lord raised a brow at his husband as he saw the figure still standing in the bathroom doorway. The young man felt slightly shell shocked at what he had just seen. It was evident from the scars, that the Dark Lord had, at some point, been whipped, and whipped hard at that. The sort of scars that remained told of a back that had been beaten bloody.

The scars had also looked old if the bumped white raised skin was anything to go by. So they had been given to the Dark Lord when he was young. Harry thought that his own childhood had been an unpleasant one. He had been ignored by his parents and bullied by his brothers. Yet that had never extended to physical abuse, other than the occasionally overzealous prank from Sirius. He wondered what it would have been like to have a childhood where one was physically beaten.

He found himself wondering how it was that the man before him had become who he was. Harry had spent much of his life being stepped on and overlooked. He had let people see him as less than themselves. He had let himself believe he was less than them. Yet here was a man before him that was respected and feared by the entire wizarding world. Yet Harry had just seen the physical proof that the man had been abused. That his life had not been an easy one. As anyone willing to inflict such wounds must have had real hatred for the one that they were hurting.

Voldemort pulled on his shirt, quickly buttoning the crisp white material before pulling his robes on quickly afterwards. Harry still stood frozen. It was as though his outlook on the world had just been altered. He had never thought that he could be strong before. Ever since birth he had been weak. He had always thought of himself as weaker than those around him. But here was the most powerful man in the wizarding world and it was evident that he had not always been so. It was clear that he had been weak at some point and that his life had been harder than many thought. It had never clicked with Harry before.

Harry had never thought of the man as anything other than powerful. He had assumed his pureblood upbringing had bred an air of power. The young Dark Lord, for him, had always been the picture of power and sophistication. He’d been the head boy, the prefect. Even as a first year he had been a powerhouse, or so he had been told. The Death Eaters, his own family included, told stories of the Dark Lord’s glorious days in Hogwarts. Yet here was the proof that the man had not always been the one of the stories.

“Come Hercules. We best be off” the Dark Lord said nonchalantly. Harry gave a wide eyed nod before following after the Dark Lord.

His head was still a mess of thoughts. He had always assumed that power was something that only the powerful could wield. It was a privilege of those that had been born into it. That was what he had always been taught. That was how his family had always viewed the way of the world. Yet, maybe that was wrong. Could it be that anyone could have power? Could a person make their own power?

Harry sighed, still mulling over these thoughts as he stepped through the floo. He supposed it was better to think over these notions than dread the meal at a restaurant that was sure to be as uncomfortable as the last one.

However as Harry stepped from the fireplace at their location it was not as he had expected. There was not a person in sight. Replacing the individuals that Harry had expected were flowers. There were thousands of flowers that littered every surface. A small fountain housed a variety of white and pink pond lilies. A few feet away from the fountain was a small table with two seats. As Harry looked up he noticed in awe that the Roof was covered in vines that caused a shower of light to filter through. It was beautiful.

“Sit down Hercules.” Harry gave a small nod and took a seat at the small table.

“I have arranged for a private meal tonight. The food and drinks will appear with no need for any service. It shall be just us.”

Harry gave a small nod to the man as he sat down. It was…dare Harry call it, thoughtful, of the man. It was as though he had noticed how uncomfortable Harry was with all the eyes on him at the restaurant last time. Additionally the room, or greenhouse, was beautiful. The light that filtered through the leaves made it seem as though it was the height of summer at midday in the south of France and the flowers were all in bloom. The scent was not overwhelming, but soothing and pleasant.

As the Dark Lord seated himself in place, a bottle of wine appeared beside him. He poured both Harry and himself a glass before taking a small sip. Harry looked to his own glass and took a gulp from the glass.

“You may want to slow down Hercules. The wine is rather strong, after all.” The Dark Lord had a small quirk of his lips and Harry gave a small smile in return.

“So, you are looking forward to your return to Hogwarts?” The question caught Harry off guard slightly. He blinked ad gave a small nod.

“Ah, yes My Lord” Harry looked away as Voldemort’s brow furrowed. He seemed displeased with the response.

The Dark Lord brought a hand to his temple, his hand running through his perfectly groomed hair. He frowned slightly in concentration. It was not socially acceptable for a husband to address his husband in such a manner. It was not as though any of his former conquests had called his ‘my Lord’ or ‘Riddle’ in bed. He had always been Tom.

“Hercules, I believe that it is inappropriate to address one’s spouse as Lord.” The Dark Lord hummed. “Don’t you agree.”

“I suppose My L-…” Harry trailed off.

“I believe that you should call me Tom, Hercules.”

“Ah, okay m-Tom.” Harry managed a small smile as he glanced at the man in question. The words felt awkward on his tongue. Harry took a breath as he prepared himself for his next words.  
  
“Umm, T-Tom, I think that you should call me Harry, then. Most of my friends do and well I thought…” Harry was rambling.

“Right then, Harry.” The Dark Lord, no Tom, gave a small smile. 

* * *

Harry scowled as he looked at the group of people that sat down at the table, readying themselves for lunch. Next to her new husband sat the formerly disgraced and formerly named Bellatrix Black. After the woman’s marriage to Rodolphus Lestrange the newly named Bellatrix Lestrange had been regarded as stable enough to return to her position within the Death Eaters. That was not to say that the woman was not being watched. The Dark Lord had a close eye on her and the woman knew that. She would, of course, be on her best behaviour.

Harry had been doing his exercise routine for around a week and a half, which meant that he only had a few days left before he went to Hogwarts. The Dark Lord, Tom, Harry corrected himself, had arranged for Harry to be taken shopping earlier in the week, along with several Death Eaters. Thankfully Severus had been invited and so the trip had not been too disastrous. Surprisingly one Lucius Malfoy had attended also and the man’s company had not been unpleasant. He and Severus seemed to know each other rather well and so the three of them had had a rather pleasant time.

Harry’s relationship with the Dark Lord, Tom, Harry screamed in his mind, had been less volatile. The man had seemed far less aggressive and demanding toward Harry. Harry was rather shocked by the man’s new attitude. However that was not to say that it was negative. It was just different. Harry was being respected; he was new to the situation.

Harry walked through the dining hall, toward The-Tom, who sat at the head of the table. He looked around at the numerous Death Eaters that inhabited the manor with nervousness. He still disliked all the eyes on him. They made him feel accused of a crime he had no part in. Severus and Lucius were seated side by side, Narcissa to Lucius’ left. Both men gave Harry a respectful nod, while Severus gave a small smile as Harry stepped toward the Dark Lord. Bellatrix’s return was a struggle for everyone.

“Harry” the Dark Lord stood as he addressed his husband. He pulled the chair out for the much younger man.

“My-Tom” Harry nodded as he took the seat.

Harry heard a strangled screech; a mix between a gasp and a scream. There was only one culprit that the noise could have come from. Harry chanced a glance up at the new Lestrange. The woman’s face was red with anger and her teeth were clenched tightly. Her hair seemed to defy gravity and she looked as though she were about to explode.

Harry couldn’t help the small smirk on his face. This could be fun. The woman, his cousin, had been torturing him since he had been born; what could be better than a little payback. It wouldn’t harm anyone. It would, however, increase the redness of the woman’s face. Maybe she would burst a blood vessel. Harry turned to his husband.

“How has your day been Tom?” Harry asked, his head down. However it was loud enough that everyone in the silent room could hear the echoes of it.

The Dark Lord blinked as he looked toward his shy little husband.The question was a rather unexpected one. However as he looked up to see the traffic light red colour of Bellatrix’s face. Oh, he thought, as he looked back to his young husband’s face. So that was the boy’s game. It seemed that there was more than just a Ravenclaw sitting there. Scratch under the surface and there was a little bit of green and silver beneath the blue.

“It has been acceptable, Harry. Although I have had rather a lot of paperwork to get through.” Tom gave a small smirk as he glanced up to see that Bellatrix’s face had got impossible redder.

“and you Harry?” Tom asked.

The rest of the meal was spent attempting to see who could wind up the new Lestrange the most, as well as assessing how red her face could go. Harry forgot himself. He forgot who it was that he was sitting next to. Who it was that he was joking with.

So as Harry stood up to leave the meal he also forgot that the man was the most powerful Dark Lord in the world. All he could think about was that he wanted to watch Bellatrix pass out, so he did the most outrageous thing that he could think.

“I will see you tonight Tom,” Harry smiled and before he could stop himself his body had moved on its own. He leant down to the still seated man. Suddenly his lips were on the others and he realised what it was that he had done.

Shit, shit, shit, ran through Harry’s head as he pulled back and straightened up. His eyes were wide as he looked to the Dark Lord. Harry didn’t bother correcting himself, this man was the Dark Lord. In those few seconds he had forgotten who the man was. That was what had got him into this situation in the first place.

The Dark Lord simply raised a brow followed by a small smirk.

“Indeed Harry,” he purred.”Tonight.”

Tom watched the boy go as he hurried from the room as though the hounds of hell were at his heels. Tonight indeed.


	11. Chapter 11

The Dark Lord made his way back toward his rooms after the long day. He had managed to finally finish the initiation of the newest Death Eaters before the start of the new year. He had not been able to attend Harry’s lessons that afternoon, as he had too much work in preparation for the new year of Hogwarts that began in only a few days. He had, instead, engaged the services of Adrian Carrow. The man was tough, but fair. He was sure that he would treat Hercules with the respect that he deserved, while still training him effectively.

Tom was looking forward to a relaxing evening. He kept telling himself that he did not want to see his husband. That it was not the kiss that he had received earlier that had kept him from completing his paperwork more quickly. That’s what he would tell himself. Although, even he was doubting that that was the truth of the matter.

Tom pushed open the door to his room. Hercules was on the bed, fully clothed and fast asleep. Tom rolled his eyes. The young man was far more trouble than he was worth. Ignoring his husband, Tom made his way across the room. He headed to the bathroom; pulling off his clothes as he went.

He showered, letting the stress of the day drain from him. Hot showers at the end of the day were always a way to relax for the Dark Lord. It was one of the few indulgences that he allowed himself. Tom rubbed the shampoo through his hair and watched as the swirl of foam trickled down the drain. He closed his eyes as he rubbed the conditioner right down to the roots. He could allow himself the occasional indulgence.

Tom stepped from the shower and towelled his hair without thinking. He let out a small scowl as he realised that drying charms would now have a rather negative effect on his hair. However it was late and all Tom wanted to do was sleep. His day had been rather hectic and even a Dark Lord could become exhausted on occasion.

Stepping from the bathroom Tom dressed in a set of pyjamas. He sighed as he looked down at the small lump that lay on top of the covers. Hercules still had his shoes on. He rolled his eyes; such a burden. Tom stepped toward his annoying husband.

Kneeling down next to the boy he took the young man’s leg in his hand. He pulled off one shoe and then the other. Tom let out another sigh as he looked at his husband again. As well as his shoes, the young man still had on his duelling robes and gloves; what a nightmare. Tom stopped himself from rolling his eyes.

Tom pulled the gloves off Hercules’ small hands before setting the small dragon hide set on the bedside table. With an audible sigh the Dark Lord pulled Harry up into a sitting position. He gently pulled the robes from the young man’s shoulders.

He wasn’t doing this because he felt anything for the boy, of course not. The only reason for this was that it would be uncomfortable with someone sleeping next to him that was fully clothed. Yes, that was the only reason. The young man let out a small snuffle sound as Tom lay his down. Tom pulled the covers over the boy, before laying down next to him. He was asleep almost immediately.

* * *

Harry shuffled slightly, reluctant to leave the warmth that surrounded him. Last night’s ‘special treat’ from the Dark Lord had been a training session with the overly zealous Adrian Carrow. The man had really put him through his paces. Harry had been absolutely exhausted; too tired to even change. After nearly two weeks of intensive workouts Harry felt like he might keel over.

Harry pushed away the thoughts of the pain in his body and instead snuggled into the warm feeling that engulfed him. It was as though there was a heated blanket around him. It seemed to fill him with a sense of comfort and peacefulness. Harry gave a small smile as he buried his face deeper into the soothing feeling.

However Harry was soon pulled out from his sleep filled daze as the warmth seemed to shift around him. Whatever was under his head pushed him upward before dragging him back down again. The movement occurred again. Harry froze. He had the sudden realisation of what it was that he was lying on. His eyes snapped open.

The Dark Lord looked down at the lump that currently resided on his chest. He had woken to what felt like a small rodent burying its way into his skin. It had taken him a moment to realise what it was that had caused him to wake up. His husband was fully draped over his chest; the young man’s head was resting on his chest, one leg over both of his own and a hand curved around his waist.

However the Dark Lord had not moved the young man. Instead he had been satisfied to merely observe; an experiment, he told himself. Thats all that it was. He wished to watch the young man squirm as he realised the position that he was on as he woke. There was no other reason, none at all.

As Harry’s eyes flashed open he attempted to push himself away from the man who he was clinging to. He could barely think and didn’t register the fact that his body was so entangled with the others, that as he rolled over, he pulled the man with him. However, that thought did register as he hit the floor with a thud, only for a much heavier body to land on top of his.

Harry froze. His body was almost entirely covered by that of the Dark Lord’s. Their faces were nearly touching. They were so close that Harry could feel his husband’s breath on his face. He looked, wide eyed, at the older man.

“I-I-…” Harry had no idea what he was trying to say; no idea what it was that the words were that were trying to force their way from his throat. The Dark Lord only raised an eyebrow at him. Even in his pyjamas and crumpled onto of Harry the man still managed to exude dignity from every pore.

The man pushed himself away from his young husband. His hands easily found the floor as he pushed himself upward. He was soon towering above the much smaller Harry. He looked down at the young man who was still tangled on the floor.

“Good Morning Harry.” Harry could see the humour in the man’s eyes. However he was unsure if it was in response the situation or Harry’s own actions. Harry assumed the latter, he quickly looked away from Tom as he tried to sit up. After everything that had happened yesterday, god, the kiss, he didn’t want to be embarrassed any further.

“Morning My L-Tom” Harry mumbled, slipping up in his embarrassment. “Umm, sorry for, well…” Harry trailed off. Again, words escaped him.

“Here Harry” Harry cast a glance back at the man, only to see an outstretched hand. Harry blinked, making sure he was not imagining things, before he nervously stretched out his own hand. It was soon grasped by a much larger one, that pulled him, rather abruptly into a standing position. He found himself pulled as closely to the Dark Lord as he had been moments ago.

“Now, Harry” the man was smirking. Harry may not be able to see his face, but he knew that it was there. It was audible in his voice. “I believe that you made a rather…enticing promise yesterday.” Harry gulped. “In front of a rather large audience, might I add.” Harry wanted to curl up in a hole and die. This was so embarrassing. Why had he said what he had said? Why was he such an idiot?

“However, last night” the Dark Lord continued. “I found you already passed out from exhaustion.”

Tom watched as the young man squirmed before him. He wasn’t sure why it was that he was teasing the boy, only that he was enjoying the reactions immensely. Additionally Harry seemed to be radiating nothing but embarrassment. Whenever himself and his young husband had been this close before Harry had inevitably been scared out of his mind. However the embarrassment, in this case, was obviously winning over his fear. So Tom continued.

“So, I believe that it's only proper that you give me what I am owed.” Tom smirked.

At that Harry’s shoulders tensed slightly and his face went a rather radiant crimson. His green eyes widened as they finally made their way up to Tom’s face. However, it seemed that they became frozen his lips. They were unable to move up any further. Tom paused for a second, before he ran his tongue along his lips, wetting them slightly. He watched as the boys attention followed the pink that poked its way from Tom’s mouth, before once retreating again.

“My Lord, I…I ‘m not-“

“Tom” Tom interrupted. Harry shook himself slightly as he started over; his eyes never leaving Tom’s mouth.

“T-Tom, I’m…well, I’m not sure what you mean,” The boy’s voice was rather weaker than it had been yesterday, a slight quiver to the words. Tom found himself loving the sound; so delicate, so breakable and all his. Tom had to suppress the possessive urge to pin the boy to the wall and take everything that was rightfully his. However that would be counter productive. He needed the young man to love him. Such an act of violence at such a moment would only send them both tumbling back down the hill that they had worked so hard to climb.

“I’m sure you can work that out Harry” Tom whispered. “You’re a Ravenclaw, after all.” Tom watched the reactions of the young man before him. He wasn’t pressuring his husband into anything, had merely asked for the return on a rather vague promise. Harry could very easily deny any knowledge of what it was that the Dark Lord was speaking of. He could continue on with his day, merely calming that there was no promise in his words. Tom wouldn’t stop him. Anything from this point forward was Harry’s choice.

Harry’s heart was hammering faster than he could ever remember. He couldn’t turn back now. He had made a promise to the Dark Lord, he had claimed that he would do something and sourly he should keep his word. Harry may never have admitted it to anyone, but the hat in first year had claimed that he would have done rather well in Gryffindor. He had a, what had the hat called it, a strong moral compass and a desire to right everything that was wrong with the world. He also had a bit of a complex when it came to saving people. He may never have had the opportunity to exercise this desire, but it was always there. Whenever anyone was in trouble he longed to help, to not let them feel as he had felt on so many occasions; alone.

Yet Harry had repressed that desire. He would not let himself be further alienated by those around him, by trying to save them. He knew that it would merely end in mockery and rather harsh punishments. Harry had chosen the safe way out, but that didn’t mean that the desires were not still there.

So when Harry made a promise, he attempted to stick by them, when he could. Not that he was given much opportunity to make such promises. He didn’t really have any friends. His family disposed him and he rarely talked to his housemates. So now that the opportunity to stand by his word was before him, Harry could barely suppress the urge to take it. Even if his heart was hammering and his knees were threatening to give way under him.

Harry’s eyes were still fixed on Tom’s lips. They never strayed. Harry dare not look up any further. He did not want to look into the brown eyes that were only ever a second away from red. Harry took a shaky breath as he pushed himself up onto his tip toes. Still focused on the lips before him, Harry slowly, delicately, pressed his own lips to them. It was a second, if that, before he pulled away again.

However he was stopped in his attempt to flee. Arms firmly wrapped around his waist and pulled him even closer toward his husband.

“I wouldn’t call that a proper kiss Harry” Tom whispered huskily into his young husbands ear. Harry could feel the hot breath on his ear lobe, it sent a light shudder dancing across his back. It was not entirely unpleasant. That thought merely made Harry’s heart beat faster. Harry took several deep breaths, trying to sooth frayed nerves. He wasn’t scared, he supposed his feelings were closer to those of nervousness and anxiousness, but not terror. Nothing even close to terror. That made a change. Changes made him nervous.

Harry leaned forward once more. He forced his lips to press firmly and more insistently than before. The kiss lasted longer. Yet, this time as he made a move to pull back, he was stopped before his lips could even separate from those in front of him.

Tom pulled him closer, until his body was tightly pressed against his husband’s. One hand found its way into Harry’s hair, while the other tightened its grip around his waist.

It felt good. Harry didn’t know why, but he was enjoying the feeling of the man’s lips against his own; the closeness that he got from it. He didn’t mind as he was pulled so close that he felt that he might suffocate. His mind seemed to be somewhere else. As though it belonged to another that craved the attention that he was receiving. At some point Harry’s eyes fluttered shut. Harry had no idea when.

Teeth gently pulled at Harry’s lip and Harry could find it in himself to do little more than open his mouth in response. Soon a tongue had found its way to caress along his, gently, demandingly. It was evident who was in control here. Even if the motions were gentle, giving Harry the chance to pull away, Harry felt as though he was drowning in the sensations. As his tongue was pulled into the Dark Lord’s mouth, Harry couldn’t help the small gasp that escaped from his covered mouth. It came out as more of a huff of air through his nose. Harry’s eyes fluttered.

Harry was so focused on the feeling of the tongue in his mouth and his own surprise that the feeling was a good one, that he failed to notice the movement of his body, until his knees hit something. His eyes snapped open as he felt himself pushed backward onto a soft surface. A bed, his mind answered his question.

“Shhh” the Dark Lord soothed as he saw the slight flash of anxiety that flashed through the green eyes. Tom ran a hand along Harry’s side gently, his fingers tickling the skin under Harry’s thin shirt as he laid kisses along his young husband’s jaw line.

Harry felt his eyes flutter back shut. The attention that he was receiving felt right. It felt so nice, so pleasurable. His breaths began to speed up as the Dark Lord made his way down his small body. The man was pulling aside material and peppering kisses on the skin that he revealed beneath. Harry was panting as the man reached his waist band.

However as Tom’s hands moved towards the buttons on Harry’s trousers, he flinched once again. His eyes snapped open once more and he looked in fear, down at the mop of brown hair. However Tom seemed to have anticipated this, he quickly pulled Harry’s attention back; by pressing his lips firmly against his young husband’s.

One hand tugged lightly at Harry’s hair; his tongue plunging back into Harry’s mouth. His young husband let him. Tom’s other hand continued to slowly undo the buttons on Harry’s trousers. A hand soon found its way into his underwear and a hand firmly wrapped itself around Harry.

Harry gasped into the mouth that was on his. His hands pulled firmly at his husband’s robes, as he attempted to find an anchor. This was the first experience in anything that remotely resembled consensual sex and Harry was unsure how to handle it. Had had barley experienced anything other than a quick wank in the shower. To have someone else touching him was an utterly new experience for Harry. His fingers clenched tighter.

Tom’s lips moved away; Harry found himself unconsciously following the man’s lips, his fingers attempting a firmer grip in the material that he had between them.

A light chuckle came from the man above him. Harry’s fingers uncurled at the sound. He hadn’t even realised what he had been doing. He felt the tingle of embarrassment and nervousness trickle through him slowly, like raindrops into a barrel. However it was soon dispelled, a hole smashed through the rotting wood, as a hot breath whispered in his ear.

“Don’t worry Harry.” A tongue ran all the way around the shell of Harry’s ear, before biting down gently; pulling at the skin. “I’m not going anywhere.” Harry shuddered as the hot mouth found its way to his neck. Teeth gently sunk into the teeth as Tom’s mouth sucked the skin purple.

Kisses continued back down his body, leaving similar bruises, as Tom’s hands pulled down his young husband’s trousers. A hand found its way back to Harry’s dick as Tom pulled down Harry’s underwear. Tom bit down on Harry’s hip, another bruise, as he pumped Harry with his other hand.

Harry gasped. His hands found their way into Tom’s hair; twisting their way into the brown locks as the hand tightened around him.

“Deep breath Harry” he heard the whisper but didn’t register the meaning behind it, until he felt the warm wetness of a mouth. The breath he had taken was once again forced from his lungs. His hands tightened in his husbands hair.

A small moan escaped him as the mouth descended. He could feel the head move beneath his fingers as it bobbed down.

“Ah, ah…” Harry threw his head back; his eyes squeezing tighter. Tom firmly grasped his young husband’s thighs, pushing them further apart as he took the younger man’s cock more deeply into his mouth. Another moan escaped Harry’s mouth as one hand moved away from the thigh and moved up to play with the small, nearly hairless orbs that so dearly needed his attention.

Harry’s breath was coming more quickly, his pants and moans sounding more desperate. The Dark Lord knew what was coming, or more accurately, who.

However before the moment could arrive a loud crash sounded from the doorway of the room; a stumble of feet and a sound of a body thumping to the ground. The Dark Lord growled as he pulled his head up. Harry’s hands dropped from his now rather messy hair.

What the fuck was someone doing in his room?! A room in which only he and his husband had permission to enter. The Dark Lord could feel his young husband tense below him and he knew that the moment had been ruined. Harry was not one for exhibitionism.

Tom felt anger spark within him as he pulled further away from the rather enjoyable time with his young husband. The actions of the green eyed man had been raw and rather exquisite. Tom lamented the loss of them. The anger was building in him more and more as he pulled himself up.

Tom stood from his position over his husband. He pulled the duvet up, to cover Harry’s form, before he turned, his eyes flashing red, to look at whoever it was that was standing in the doorway.

A red faced Charles Jugson was standing, mouth agape in the doorway. He seemed frozen in the spot. His own stupidity preventing him from moving away from the imminent danger.

“Jugson” Tom growled out darkly as he looked toward the stupid young death eater. Killer intent glittered in his eyes, as they flashed red. The man was eighteen; a new addition to the ranks. As many of the new recruits did, he was staying in the manor, training and learning the ropes of a new Death Eater.

However, that did not excuse the arrival of the young man in his room. In fact, it was rather perplexing as to how the man had even found his way into the wing in the first place. The wing was off limits to anyone other than the inner circle. The new recruits were supposed to be confined to one wing of the manor, their containment there falling to several members of the inner circle. After his punishment of Jugson, he would be having words with those responsible.

“What” the Dark Lord barked out “are you doing?” he growled.

The man before him could only gape. His eyes flickered between the now rather pale Harry and his own feet; avoiding the eye of the Dark Lord at any cost.

“Answer me” Tom took a large step forward. His wand slipped into his fingers and pushed against Jugson’s windpipe.

“Why. Are. You. In. My. Quarters.”

Jugson’s eyes flickered up at the angry face of his master, before he made the rather sensible decision of falling to his knees before the man.

“I-I…I got lost my Lord”

That merely frustrated the Dark Lord more. The boy couldn’t even come up with a valid excuse. His teeth clenched together and his grip tightened on his wand.

“Crucio” he whispered; his voice full of anger. The spell was bright red, as it flashed through the bedroom. It hit Jugson squarely in the chest.

For the next minute the room was filled with the screams of a new Death Eater. Tom felt that it was far too soon that he removed the spell. However he knew that thirty more seconds and the young man would need a rather lengthy stay in the hospital wing.

“Get out” Tom growled. The man went to stand.

“On your knees”

Tom watched him leave, before loudly slamming the door behind him. He turned back toward his husband. Harry was staring at him from the bed. Tom clenched his teeth, moment ruined it seemed.

“Why don’t you go and have a shower Harry, we’ll go down for breakfast.” Tom turned away from his husband, planning to retreat to his office and work off his frustration. However his path was interrupted.

“Tom” Harry had stood from the bed and was standing awkwardly at the foot of it. His shirt was only half buttoned up and the fly of his trousers was undone. He looked fully sexed up. Harry took a step forward until he was standing before Tom.

“I’ll see you at breakfast.” Harry took hold of his husband’s hand and stood up on his tiptoes. He stretched upward and gently pressed a kiss onto the pale skin of his husband’s cheek. He then scuttled off toward the bathroom.

Tom stared after him. 


	12. Chapter 12

Harry’s arm rested lightly on his husband’s as the pair of them walked into the dining hall for breakfast that morning. Tom pulled Harry’s chair for him, gently laying a hand on Harry’s shoulder and pushing him into the seat.

“Thank you Tom” Harry murmured under his breath as he took the seat. He kept his eyes on the breakfast food before him. He was rather self conscious about the situation that he was in. There were several large hickies residing on his neck; large and dark on the skin. If that wasn’t an obvious sign of what had happened that morning, he was sure that Jugson would have already shared the details with the rest of the new recruits. Those details would surely spread quickly throughout the ranks. Harry didn’t want to see the judgement in their eyes.

Harry was so lost in his thoughts he didn’t notice the quick conversation that was had between the Dark Lord and one of his more senior Death Eaters; Abraxas Malfoy. Very few words were exchanged as the man came to stand by the Dark Lord, behind Harry. He had been summoned by the rather insistent tingle that ran up his left arm. The conversation was quick and to the point and Abraxas quickly exited the dining room without a backward glance.

Harry was soon joined by his husband who seated himself besides him, non the wiser for the small conversation that had been had behind him.

“Serve yourself Harry.” Tom encouraged as Harry merely sat staring at the food before him. It seemed he was a little out of it this morning. Tom supposed that a Death Eater walking in on you having sex with the Dark Lord could make people a little…uncomfortable. He, himself merely felt anger at the situation but he supposed that it may be possible for one such as Harry to have a rather different emotional response.

Tom sighed, such a bother. His husband couldn’t do anything himself. He grabbed the spoon from the bowl of scrambled eggs and placed a small amount onto Harry’s plate. This was such a hassle. He placed two slices of toast next to the eggs. What a waste of his precious time, he was a Dark Lord. He shouldn’t be serving other people breakfast. Tom grabbed a bowl and filled it with fruit salad before placing it next to the plate. What had he been reduced to?!

“Eat Harry” Tom hummed as he set the bowl of fruit salad next to his husband. Harry blinked before picking up a spoon. He slowly made his way through the fruit salad, a small smile hidden behind the food as he spooned it into his mouth.

He could ignore the stares of the Death Eaters, could pretend that they weren’t there as the Dark Lord engaged him in a quite and rather stilted conversation. It may be awkward and a little weird, but it took his mind off what was going on around him.

“I will be attending your dueling session tonight Harry.” Harry gave a small smile as he took a bite from his toast.

“Better you than Carrow” Harry said quietly as he finished his bite.

“I could have given you Avery” Tom smirked, a wicked glint in his eye. “I just might, next time.”

Harry gave a small huff of a laugh; a wide smile curling its way across his face.

“You might be the Dark Lord, but you wouldn’t be that cruel.” Harry smiled at the man. Tom raised an eye brow; a smirk creeping up his face.

“You don’t know the half of it.” Tom bared his teeth in a mock growl and Harry smiled back before turning toward his food again.

“If you say so Tom,” Harry smirked as he took another bite of toast.

* * *

Tom left breakfast, satisfied with the meal. Harry was seemingly loosing his fear of him. He had chatted quite freely and seemed unconcerned with the stares that had been following him. They were, after all, something that he would have to get used to. Tom’s plan was going well. The boy had willingly engaged in some rather intimate touches that morning with him and enjoyed it. Harry had not later pulled away from him. In fact when his mind had cleared the boy had seemed to feel closer to Tom. This was perfect. Tom would have the boy in love with him by Christmas. He was sure of it.

Now all he had to do was deal with the potential problem for the success of his plan; Jugson. Tom knew that there was more to the boy’s story than he had given him. Tom’s wards on his rooms were set so that unless one was looking for his rooms, they could not find them. That way no-one could accidentally find the rooms. He knew that many Death Eaters were curious creatures. He would rather not have them all finding their way into his room by accident. Yet he still wished their allowance for exploration. It was Slytherin nature, after all. They all knew that his rooms were off limit, no matter what.

Additionally there were more wards in place that prevented those intent on harming his person from entering his private quarters. However in the moment that the boy had entered his room, Tom had realised that those words did not extend to Harry. That was something that he would be rectifying today. He would also be gathering any information that he could from the young Jugson. If things had gone as he had ordered Jugson would have his securely restrained in the dungeons; hanging painfully from one of the walls if Tom’s wishes had been carried out.

Tom would leave him there while he fixed the wards. The wards took only around half an hour to fix, as they were hand crafted by his own hand and so easily modified. But that seemed rather too short a time to let the boy stew. Therefore Tom hosted a rather relaxing mid-morning tea meeting. He had invited Malfoy Sr and his son Lucius, Severus Snape and finally Fenrir Greyback to the pleasantries. All of the members were ones that were willing to protect his husband. All had a vested interest, an emotional connection of sorts to his husband in some way. They were willing to protect him. Tom deemed that as an appropriate reason to reward them. A personal meeting with the Dark Lord was rather high praise and would be sure to spread through the grape vine rather rapidly.

Finally, around three hours after breakfast, the Dark Lord made his way down toward the dungeons; Severus closely in tow. The young man had some rather interesting potions that the Dark Lord could use on the unwitting subject. However, the young Death Eater was required to monitor the subject; new potions could be rather volatile and the Dark Lord didn’t want Jugson to die. Well, at least not before he had his answers.

Tom entered the dungeon room to see a rather pale and bloodied Jugson. It was evident that Malfoy had had his fun with the young man. Maybe he had invited some friends along with him. The Dark Lord appreciated the thought. A man in pain was more willing to talk.

“Morning Jugson,” Tom smirked. His voice was jolly, but there was a vicious undertone to it.

“As you can see, I have brought a few gifts along with me for you to try. I’m sure you’ll appreciate them.” His eyes glittered red.

“Severus” he put his hand out. A silent demand for the first potion. The potion hit his palm with a small thud.

“Now, open your mouth my dear.” Tom purred as he stepped forward. Jugson squeezed his eyes shut and ignored the order.

“Hmmmm” Tom wondered in fake curiosity. “Playing hard to get, it seems.” Tom smirked.

His fingers quickly and harshly grasped the bloodied skin of the young man. His nails dug in harshly, forcing more blood to blossom to the surface; staining his nails red. Jugson gasped in pain and in a flash Tom forced the potion into his mouth. His hand then quickly covered his mouth and nose; forcing Jugson to swallow the concoction.

It took only ten-seconds before the young man started to thrash in the bonds that held him to the wall. Foam started to froth from his mouth and his eyes rolled back into his head. The Dark Lord watched in satisfaction as the pain went on.

For the next hour Tom watched in satisfaction as potion after potion was fed to the eighteen year old. Tom didn’t even ask any questions to his target; he merely revelled in the screams of the young Death Eater before him. As a scream that was verging on those of the insane ripped its way from his throat, Tom finally fed Jugson the antidote to the most recent potion.

“Severus, the veritaserum” Tom smirked. Severus gave a solemn nod.

“Final one now Charles,” the Dark Lord cooed. “Then It’ll all be over.” Tom smirked. The boy was in so much pain that he opened his mouth without protest. Tom fed Jugson the potion and he quickly swallowed it down.

“Now, a few questions for you” Tom mocked as he saw the young man’s eyes go glassy. Tom could have used Legilimency on the young man, but where was the fun in that? It was far more entertaining to watch as the young man was forced to actually say his answers out loud.

“What is your name?”

“Charles Gregory Jugson.” The young man responded perfectly.

“Why were you attempting to enter my quarters?”

Jugson blinked, as though attempting to avoid his answer. But the potion quickly pulled him back under. “To find Hercules”

Ah, just as he suspected. The Dark Lord clenched his teeth.

“Why did you want to find Hercules?” Tom growled.

“To have some fun.” Jugson’s voice was monotonous, but the words he said made the Dark Lord want to rip his tongue from his mouth.

“What sort of fun?” he growled.

“Some of the other Death Eaters said he was easy. That he’d do anything for anyone. I wanted to see if he was telling the truth.”

“Who told you this?” Tom pulled the young man’s hair harshly back. He was seconds away from ripping out his throat.

“Regulus, Crouch, Goyle and Karkaroff, they said after the party that we’d put him in his place. That we could do anything we wanted.” Tom’s eyes flashed red. An audible growl escaped his throat. His own brother, what a piece of scum. Tom would ensure his life was filled with suffering.

“What. Party.” He growled as he held himself back from pulling out Jugson’s eyes.

“The Summer ball. We put him in his place. Made he realise what a piece of shit he was.”

It was in that moment, that the Dark Lord lost it.

* * *

Harry fiddled with his wand as he stood in the dueling room, waiting for the Dark Lord to arrive. The man was already ten minutes late and Harry was starting to worry. The man was not one for being late. It was as though he had an internal clock that demanded he be on time.

Harry looked up with a small smile as the door opened. However, instead of seeing Tom, as expected, Lucius Malfoy stood in the doorway. Harry raised an eyebrow in question at the heirs appearance. Lucius promptly answered the unspoken question.

“The Dark Lord has called a Death Eater meeting. It will take place in 20 minutes. I am to escort you to his office before the meeting starts. Apologies Lord Hercules.” Lucius’ voice was solemn and to the point. Harry only gave a small nod in response before following after the blonde.

Harry was soon entering the Dark Lord’s study to see the man sitting at his desk. He was wearing different clothes than those that he had been in that morning. His face looked like thunder and Harry couldn’t help but notice that the hands on the desk had blood caked beneath the nails.

“Tom..” Harry tried cautiously. Tom seemed to notice his appearance. Lucius had already made his escape.

“I have prepared an outfit for you Hercules. It is on the bed. Go and change. We shall head for the meeting as soon as you are dressed.”

Harry flinched at the uncaring tone that Tom addressed him with. What had he done to justify the use of his full name? He quickly retreated to the bedroom and for the first time that day he felt a tingle of fear run down his spine. What could he have possibly done? What would the Dark Lord do to him? He shuddered at the though.

He quickly dressed in the robes that were on the bed, not wanting to irritate his husband more by being slow. However he did grant himself a minute to stop and look in the mirror. His appearance was rather different from the robes that he was usually forced into for formal events.

They were jet black with highlights of green stitching. However they were void of embroidery or decoration. The cut of the robes was a far more masculine one. They were high necked and rather than stopping mid thigh, they stopped just below the knee. A pair of jet black slacks were worn under the robes along with a pair of equally black lace up boots. Even his shirt was black.

The figure that he cut was one that intended danger and intimidation rather than the submission that his previous robes he had worn had suggested. Harry had slipped on the ring, that could have been a wedding ring, that the Dark Lord gave him. It was the only sign of anything resembling ownership. But rather than that of master and slave, it suggested a relationship of equality. The ring was one of marriage. Not the brand of a slave. Harry took a breath before he returned to his husbands office.

Tom looked up as he entered and Harry saw the glint of possessiveness in the man’s eyes that he had seen when Tom had tortured Fenrir in the forest. Harry’s eyes widened as the looked away from the sight. His gaze returned to a safe position; the floor as Tom rose from his chair.

Tom stepped directly in front of his husband. His fingers gripped at Harry’s chin; he pulled up his chin. His eyes flashed red as they met the green. His face inched closer toward Harry’s.

“You are mine Hercules,” the man growled out. “Mine” he repeated. He pulled his husband’s chin forward. Their lips connected. Tom’s other hand came to wrap around Harry’s waist and pulled him closer.

The kiss was violent and claiming. The hand moved from Harry’s chin to his hair, clenching his fingers tightly in the black locks. Harry’s head was pulled back, allowing for more contact between the two. Tom’s teeth pulled at Harry’s lip and soon his tongue was running through his mouth; claiming it.

“Mine” the man growled once more as he pulled away.

Harry was left breathless and slightly confused as his husband stepped away. It had all happened too quickly that he had to had a moment to even collect his thoughts. He blinked, unseeing, as he tried to pull the scramble of his mind, back together.

“Come along Harry”


	13. Chapter 13

Harry didn’t know what was going on. He still felt as though he were swimming underwater, or maybe drowning. Harry wasn’t quite sure. He blinked again. Harry’s husband had led him to the front of the main meeting room. The hall was littered with Death Eaters, all of them looking up expectantly at the Dark Lord and his husband. Harry could only look back at them in confusion.

“It seems, that once more, my orders have been, disregarded.” The Dark Lord sounded rather jovial as he spoke. However, his eyes were red and the smile on his face was extremely sinister.

“Maybe even considered” the Dark Lord paused “unimportant.” His eyes flashed red.

The entire room was tense. Harry felt as though he could hear each and every breath that was taken; which, at that current moment, was none. Even Harry was frozen in place. What was the man talking about? What did it have to do with him?

The doors to the hall banged open. Pushed in front of the familiar figures of Severus and Lucius were a group of five people. The five of them had their hands bound behind their backs; rough chaffing rope. How muggle. Their eyes were covered and they stumbled with each step. Well, four of them stumbled.

One of the five was being levitated; he seemed unable to move by himself. His entire body was caked in blood and there was dried saliva caked around his mouth. Spasms ran through his body intermittently and Harry was sure that behind the silencing spells he was obviously under, his screams were rough and rattling. Under the cloth that covered his eyes, Harry could still see who it was in such a condition; Jugson.

Harry’s eyes widened. All that for a mistimed entry into a room which did not have a locked door? Harry would have to watch himself. The broken state of the boy that had now been placed on the floor was both fascinating and terrifying. Harry blinked. His mind realising that he should be paying attention.

Harry looked to the other boys. They were recognisable as well. Barty Crouch Jr had been forced into a kneeling position; Lucius’ hand at the back of his neck. The man looked disgusted at the contact, even through the leather glove that covered his hand. Travis Goyle was on his side. It seemed that Severus, after dropping Jugson to the floor, had kicked the young death eater into his current position. A small dribble of blood trickled down the side of his face. Igor Karkaroff seemed to have positioned himself in the same position as Goyle of his own accord. The man was certainly more cowardly than most.

The final member of the bound men was none other than Regulus Black. Severus had his hand tightly gripped in Regulus’ hair. Harry watched as his brother’s neck was displayed before the room. His knees were forced to the floor with an echoing thud. Harry wouldn’t be surprised if something had been broken in that fall. Severus never let go of Regulus’ hair. Harry couldn’t think clearly. He really wasn’t sure what he was feeling about the rather unexpected situation. He wasn’t sure he wanted to admit that he felt a sick kind of pleasure in seeing his brother utterly helpless.

“These fine examples of young men,” Voldemort sneered at the five men. They couldn’t hear him. He didn’t want them to. They had already sealed their fate. “decided, in their age-old wisdom, that they would try and take something that was not their’s.” Voldemort’s words may have suggested that of a storyteller, however, his tone was now much darker. There was danger in his purred words.

“That they would try to force their way upon someone who was not their’s to claim. They tried to take something that was not theirs. Something that belongs to me!” the Dark Lord was no longer playing. He was growling at his Death Eaters. Daring even one of them to step out of line. He would be overjoyed at such an opportunity.

“I thought that I had made it clear. I thought that there was some semblance of intelligence within my ranks. I must have misjudged.” Every eye was on the floor. Everyone but Harry’s; his eyes were fixed to the figure in front of him. Glued to his husband.

“Hercules Licorus Black is, by law and by, more importantly, my command, under my protection.” Tom paused and Harry could see as every line of his body tensed. His shoulders were tight and the words were clear.

“He. Is. Mine” The silence that followed was long and tense. Harry was sure that even under the silencing charms that the five young men could feel the oppressive atmosphere. No-one moved.

“Now, these five members of our organisation have betrayed my orders. They have committed a sin that I deem, unforgivable. They have tried to take what was mine. They coveted my husband and regarded the correct cause of action to be to take him.”

It was then, that with a wave of his hand, the spells on the bound men were cancelled. Gurgled screams that sounded as though they had become second nature were issued from Jugson’s lungs on repeat. Harry was sure that there was very little left holding the boy’s sanity together.

“That’s enough of that.” Green light flashed across the room and before anyone could even blink, Jugson lay dead on the floor. Harry’s mouth dropped open. What. The. Fuck. The man was dead. He was dead. Harry had just seen someone die. For the first time in his life he was seeing a dead body. He had just seen a man die. Harry was only feeling shock.

“Who’s next?” Tom grinned wickedly. He pointed his wand at Goyle and soon the boy was a writhing mess, screaming as brokenly as Jugson had, only moments ago. Blood dripped from under the blindfold. Harry was sure that the young man would never see again; the blindfold now a permanent fixture. Harry was still in far too much shock to really care. Or maybe he just didn’t care at all. Tom seemed satisfied with the pained whimpers that were being issued from the now blind Goyle.

Harry could only watch Karkaroff’s left leg was twisted by the wandless hand of his husband. The bones cracked and blood spurted, spreading across the floor. His leg looked a piece of raw meat that had been chewed to pieces; pieces of bone and gristle throughout it. Karkaroff sounded like he was being ripped apart with the sounds that came out of his mouth. That was close to the truth.

Crouch was next. From its holster, the wand slipped into Tom’s hand. It seemed that this spell would be a little more creative.

“volucris comede”

A swarm of insects flew from the tip of the white wood. They bit at Crouch, covering every inch of his body. The man thrashed, his screams muffled as it seemed that some of the insects flew into his mouth. He writhed around, attempting to free himself from the insects as they began to eat the skin from his body. Drops of blood remained unseen as they blossomed from every part of skin. The insects crawled under his clothes, coating every inch.

The Dark Lord let the spell run for several minutes, watching with satisfaction as the young man screamed in agony. He finally ended the spell. Karkaroff was left hairless and covered in blood. What was left of his skin was raw and red, he looked like a boiled lobster.

Harry had been in a daze. He was watching the man that he felt, well he didn't know what, but he was watching him torture those that had ridiculed him and abused him, some of them for years. It was all rather surreal. That was until the wand was pointed at his brother.

Harry didn’t know what he was thinking. Harry’s legs seemed to move without any thought for the consequences of his actions. He took the two steps that he was from his husband with quick feet. His hands reached out and soon both of them were looped around his husband’s arm; wrapped around the tense muscle. The red eyes looked down at him. Harry couldn’t face them.

“To-“ Harry paused. His hands dropped. He had the room’s attention.

“My Lord” Harry’s head was bowed. He wanted to curl up and die. He felt so small, so useless. There was no way that the man was going to listen to him. He was a Dark Lord. Harry fell to his knees. His fists were clenched his shoulders tense and his chin against his chest. His voice was a whisper.

“My Lord please.” Harry didn’t know what else to say. He couldn’t express what it was that he was feeling. Couldn’t explain it.

“Out” the Dark Lord whispered. Nobody moved.

“Get out!” he barked. The effect was immediate. There was a minute of chaos as everyone scrambled to get out. Harry didn’t look up. He couldn’t look up. He waited till there was silence, then he waited some more.

There was the sound of rustling cloth. A hand took Harry’s chin. Harry’s head was forced up. He looked into brown eyes that were level with his.

“I told you to call me Tom”

Before he knew it, Tom’s lips were on his; insistent, demanding. Harry’s eyes fluttered shut. He let the tongue into his mouth, his heart hammering fast. He was being taken over. Hands grasped at his waist, running up his sides with gentle strokes. He was pulled closer to the hard muscled body of his husband.

‘Tom,” Harry panted as he pulled away. “Not here”

Tom raised a brow. His husband pulling away was to be expected, the words he had spoken afterwards, were not. Without a word Tom stood, pulling Harry up with him. A pop and they were in their bedroom.

It had been too long. Tom pushed Harry onto the bed. This boy here had watched him torture four men, not having said a word. He had waited in silence, only stepping in to defend his family. Tom supposed that family may be important to some people. The boy had literally fallen to his knees before him. He had begged. It had been beautiful. The boy was beautiful. He wanted him and he wanted him now.

Tom’s mouth was on Harry’s in a second. His hands were pulling at his clothing, literally ripping the fabric away from his young husband’s skin. Harry was leaning into the touches. His own hands were running across Tom’s back. He was gently pulling at the material. It was a request, unlike the demands of Tom’s actions. Tom responded.

Tom took his hands from Harry and quickly pulled off his own robes. Buttons popped across the room and ripped material was quickly thrown to the floor. Their chests were bare and Tom pulled Harry closer to him. His kisses were desperate. They were claiming.

Harry’s eyes closed. He didn’t really know what was happening. Didn’t know how to stop it. Didn’t think he wanted to. The man was his husband. The man was a Dark Lord. The man had tortured for him, killed for him. Harry wasn't sure what he was feeling. He just let his husband take over.

Harry was pushed down onto the bed and the lips left his. Harry could feel his heart hammering in his chest as his breaths came quickly. However, Tom’s lips were not idle. Lips sealed themselves against Harry’s neck, a tongue tasted the salted skin. Tom’s hands also moved. One ran up Harry’s chest. Harry felt the fingers run across his nipples. He let out a small gasp as the other hand moved elsewhere.

A hand had found its way beneath his waistband. However, as the hand pushed lower Harry’s mind froze. Was this something that he wanted? He’d never had sex before. That didn’t mean that he hadn’t thought about it. This was not really what he had pictured. Harry blinked and blinked again. Was he really about to let this happen? He didn’t…

“Stop thinking” Tom whispered as he drew away from Harry’s neck. His hands pushed further under Harry’s waistband. “Let me do it.” Harry gave as small nod. His pants were pushed down.

Harry only had a second for his mind to tell him that he was naked in front of the Dark Lord, that he was fucking naked, that…

“I said, stop thinking.”

A hand wrapped around Harry’s dick, he gasped. A mouth took full advantage of the opening as a tongue was soon in Harry’s mouth. He gasped again as the hand began to move, faster and faster. Harry was rather inexperienced in Sexual exploration. It showed, as within minutes he was spurting all over his husband’s hand.

Harry wanted to die. This was so embarrassing. The man hadn’t even…

“Don’t” Tom commanded. He could see the look in Harry’s eyes. See what he was doing, thinking. He knew what would happen if he let the boy think for too long.

“No more thinking”

Tom bit at Harry’s ear, running his tongue along his neck and then down his chest. Harry felt the hot mouth run along him. His heart was still hammering in his chest.

Whispers were said as the mouth lifted from his skin. Harry could feel the words against his skin. He soon felt a wet finger pressing against him. Against a place that had never been entered before.

“What…” Harry tried to sit up. The second hand forced him down.

“Just let it happen. You’ll enjoy it.” Tom bit his ear. “ I promise…just”

The finger moved and brushed against something inside him. Harry couldn’t stop the moan that was ripped from his mouth. Just the feel of that finger was enough, Harry began to get hard again.

“That…what…” Harry couldn’t speak.

“That’s your prostate” Another finger entered Harry. There was a burn.

“If I-“ Harry moaned, the burn seemed to disappear.

“Touch it-“ Harry was panting. He needed something. He didn’t know what.

“Like that-“ Harry’s heart was hammering.

“You’ll never-“ Harry moaned. A third finger was added.

“Want me-“ It burned, but it felt good. Harry wanted more.

“To stop.” Harry was thrusting himself against the fingers that were inside him. It felt so good. Every shift, every movement of them, ran over a gland that he hadn’t know existed mere minutes before.

A few more whispered words were hot against the skin of his stomach.

The fingers were removed and Harry’s dazed mind missed the full feeling.

“Tom-“ It wasn’t begging. He told himself it wasn’t begging.

“Stop thinking Harry”

Hands grasped his hips, Harry could feel the tight fingers. Something was soon pushing at his entrance. Harry knew exactly what it was.

“Relax” Tom ordered. His hand, once again, found its way around Harry’s cock. Tom slowly pushed his way into his husband, as he gently pumped his husband’s cock.

Harry’s head was thrown back of its own accord. Little whimpers and moans slipped past his lips as Tom took control of his body.

The gentle whispers continued. Harry’s hands gripped tightly on his husband’s shoulders. He could feel Tom’s own rapid breathing. It was nearly in time with his own.

“Tom” Harry whimpered. The man was now fully seated within him. There was a burning stretch as the slow, but steady movement stopped. Tom ran a tongue along Harry’s nipple. Harry shuddered at the sensation.

“Relax” Tom whispered.

Tom’s lips quickly moved to Harry’s own. He thrust his tongue into his young husband’s mouth and with it he began to thrust his hips.

Harry’s hands tightened on Tom’s shoulders, they needed purchase, he needed an anchor. They moved to his back. His nails dug in.

The thrusts, slow at first, became faster. The kiss became messy; tongues and teeth clashing against each other. The hand on Harry’s cock pumped faster. Harry felt so full, he felt like he was about to burst.

His breath came faster and faster, his heart hammering nearly out of his chest. He moaned and without meaning to his vision exploded. His eyes rolled back behind closed eyelids, a guttural moan, low in his throat accompanied the tightening of his hands. His nails dug into the soft flesh of Tom’s back, they dug into Tom’s scars. It felt wonderful.

Harry continued to pant harshly as Tom thrust several more times into his body. He felt utterly relaxed, just as Tom had told him. Harry could hear Tom’s breathing speed up, feel the warm air as it puffed against his neck.

Tom bit down into the white skin. Harry gasped at the mix of pain and pleasure. His insides were soon coated in Tom’s seed. The man’s hands remained tight on his hips as he shuddered through his orgasm.

The man collapsed against Harry’s chest. His head was over Harry’s heart. His hands became limp and his body became pliant. He remained inside of Harry.

“Sleep Harry”

Harry hadn’t noticed how tired he was until that moment. Blinking, Harry thought he might as well take a risk. He set his hands on Tom’s head. Entwined his fingers through the hair.

Tom, still with his head in the same position, ran his teeth gently along the pink nipple.

“Sleep”

Harry closed his eyes. He was asleep within minutes.


	14. Chapter 14

Regulus Black was chained to the wall of a dark cell. His arms ached and his body shook with cold. However, even in this position, he was still grateful. Thankful that he was not like the others who were around him. Goyle was chained to the wall across from him. The man’s eyes were missing in their sockets and the man moaned intermittently. Scabs had formed in the sockets and blood would occasionally trickle, as he shifted and the scabs cracked.  
   
But at least Goyle wasn’t in the situation that Karkaroff was in. Karkaroff was on the floor, his arms were chained to the wall above his head, forcing an uncomfortable stretch. However there was no way to do that to his leg. His leg, was, in the simplest terms, a mess. It was mangled beyond anything that was recognisable as a leg. Regulus was sure that the man should be dead.  
   
However, it seemed that some spells had been cast on the man. His leg wasn’t bleeding, even though it was little more than pulp at that moment. Yet that did not seem to mean that the pain was any better. Thankfully the young man had passed out around an hour ago. His screams, which had been constant, had finally died out.  
   
Jugson had not come back. Regulus had seen what was left of him on the floor. He had not been breathing. He was dead. Regulus was sure that he was dead. At least he wasn’t dead. He very well could have been. The Dark Lord had been angry, so angry. Regulus had never felt rage like that before. It was in the very air.  
   
However as Regulus had heard Harry speak, the rage seemed to vanish. It had been five words, five whispered words. That was all it had taken. The power in those words; the power in his voice. The power that Hercules held over the Dark Lord was fantastical. Regulus could barley believe it. His brother, the weak little boy had that kind of power. The power to stop the wand of the most powerful wizard in the world. That was something that he could use.

* * *

Harry sighed as he lay down in bed. He had not seen his husband all day. Usually, that would be a good thing, but the day before that he had had been fucked by the other man, so he felt a little…well, sensitive. He was feeling things for the man that he had not thought he would feel. There was something about the man. He was cruel, vicious, manipulative and verging on evil, if the very concept was even one that existed. Yet here Harry was, pining over him. The man was…well Harry didn’t want to overstep the boundaries that were really not clearly marked out. He felt like the man was his.  
   
Harry curled himself into a small ball. He pulled the fleece blanket, which had been set on the bed as the weather had turned slightly colder, into his face. He set it under his cheek and attempted to find sleep. He was going to Hogwarts in two days, well one day, it was after twelve. Harry fell asleep, thinking about red eyes as they faded into brown.  
   
Harry woke up, he didn’t know how much later. He felt a set of arms pulling him to a solid chest. He blinked, his mind fuzzy, as a hand ran soothingly along his hip.  
   
“Tom” he mumbled sleepily. He felt a hot breath on his ear lobe, the warmth cascading down, along his cheek and neck.  
   
“Go back to sleep, Harry”  
   
Harry didn’t want to. Harry wanted to be able to see the man, his husband. Harry wriggled and the grip around him loosened. Uncoordinated and lethargically Harry turned himself around, his face at level with Tom’s chest.  
   
“Better?” Tom questioned. Harry could sense the raised eyebrow and the small smirk even if he could not see it.  
   
“Missed you” Harry mumbled. He would blame his sleep idled brain for that if he was ever asked about it. He would have never have said that with full use of his mental capacity. However he didn’t have time to be asked. He was comfortable. He felt safe. He was back asleep in seconds.  
   
Therefore Harry didn’t feel the hand that ran through his hair. He didn’t see the melancholy look on his husbands face. He didn’t feel the kiss that was pressed into his forehead and he didn’t hear the whispered words.  
   
“I missed you too Harry”

* * *

 “Change of plans Harry”  
   
He was standing at the platform. The Hogwarts express. The train was so red that the colour seemed to sparkle across the station.  
   
The Dark Lord stood beside Harry. It was a shock that he had come to see him off. However it was evident that there was a rather large protective detail in place. Harry and his husband were surrounded by at least thirty people. They formed a barrier of sorts between him and the rest of the world. Harry wondered if this was what it felt to be royalty, or maybe to be a prime minister or a president. It felt as though they were expecting assassins around every corner. Harry could see parents and their children standing around, attempting to act normal. Yet every single one of them was on high alert. Dark, light and neutral alike were all prepared for some sort of confrontation. Yet, the Dark Lord seemed unconcerned.  
   
“After our little demonstration” so that’s what Tom wanted to call it. Torturing and killing new death eaters in front of the old; some of them even the parents of those screaming in pain. Tom sure had a way with words.  
   
“There have been many who have volunteered to protect you while at Hogwarts.” Tom’s voice was smooth like honey. You could easily find yourself stuck in it.  
   
“Therefore we have less necessity for your wolves.”  
   
Harry started to protest. Words were ready to spill from his lips as Tom stopped him.  
   
“Now now, you will still have two of the mutts attending school with you. It is safer to avoid drawing any, well…anymore, unnecessary attention. Two will be enough.”  
   
Harry gave a small nod. He smiled slightly up at his husband.  
   
“Who?” Harry questioned.   
   
“Autumn and Sparrow” Harry was actually surprised that the Dark Lord rememgbered their names. “They’re on the train already. I believe Rosier and Parkinson are with them. They’ve secured a carriage.”  
   
Harry shook his head. It seemed that this was how the year was going to go. Harry would be followed around and protected like a prized dog. But Harry had teeth of his own. Looking at Tom, how the man moved, how he radiated power as though it was part of his very soul; Harry thought that he might be able to do something like that. Maybe, one day. Harry could bite. If he needed to.  
   
“It is time for you to go Harry.” His husband looked down at him. Tom set a hand on his shoulder, he stepped, his body in front of Harry’s.  “I will see you on Friday.”  
   
With that the lips dived onto Harry’s, demanding and dominating. This was not a kiss of affection; this was claiming. Everyone could see it. Harry didn’t think that he minded. But that may just be the fact that his brain was too dazed to think of anything but the lips on him and the insistent tongue in his mouth.  
   
Tom drew back. Every set of eyes in the station was on them.   
   
“Mulciber will take you, go.”  
   
Harry paused. His eyes connected with the brown. He took a risk.  
   
Stepping up on his toes, Harry pressed his lips to his husband’s. His fingers dug into the black fabric of Tom’s robes. His eyes fluttered shut. Tom was pulled into the kiss. This was an equal kiss. This was one of more than just ownership. Tom indulged. It was slow. It was close. Harry was rather disappointed when it ended.  
   
“Go Harry. You’ll miss the train.”  
   
Harry walked away from the man. He followed Mulciber; a seventeen, brown haired, brown eyed seventh year Slytherin. Harry walked up to the train. He stepped onto the glittering red.  
   
Harry turned around. He looked at Tom. Tom looked back.  
 

* * *

Harry sat at the Ravenclaw table. For the first time in his school career he was not alone in his attendance of the opening ceremony. Sitting at the Ravenclaw table were three set of Slytherin robes; Mulciber, Rosier and Parkinson. It seemed the Dark Lord had given them the role of Bodyguard. Harry didn’t mind that much. They didn’t talk to him. It was just like being at the Ravenclaw table as he usually was. However now there was a barrier from the harsh words. Although there was the addition of a rather a lot of stares. It seemed that every ear had heard tell of his new position.    
   
The first year names started being called, one after another. Harry didn’t know any of them. Harry didn’t care. Several of them were added to the Ravenclaw table, Harry ignored their existence. They did not ignore his. He could feel the extra sets of eyes on him. Harry put his head down. Tom wasn’t here to stop them. He didn’t like the feeling.  
   
However, as the next name was called, Harry looked up.   
   
“Norton, Sparrow” was called out. McGonagall looked at the young wolf with suspicion. Sparrow walked to the stool, not a care in the world. It was as though the whole school was not staring at each step taken. Sparrow sat on the stool.  
   
But no-one really knew who Sparrow was. They didn’t know that a werewolf stood before them. They didn’t know that said wolf was part of the pack of the infamous Fenrir Greyback. They didn’t know anything about Sparrow. Sparrow was just a rare transfer student. There was only curiosity toward the person smiling cockily. Harry thought that the anonymity must be nice.  
   
“Gryffindor” was called out within a minute of the hat seating itself on Sparrow’s head.  
   
There was a round of claps throughout the hall, most of them originating from the Gryffindor table, none of them from the Slytherins. Sparrow stepped from the platform, leaving the hat on the stool.   
   
However, instead of walking to the Gryffindor table Sparrow halted. A second of hesitation before footsteps made their way in another direction. Sparrow walked toward the Ravenclaw table, toward Harry. Harry sat, frozen in his seat. What the hell was going on? Everyone watched the fifteen year old head in the wrong direction. No-one said a word. It seemed that they were all frozen. Harry was frozen too. His heart was hammering like a far too vigorous percussion player was hammering against his ribs.    
   
Sparrow’s eyes connected with Harry’s as the steps got closer and closer. Harry could not hide the shock on his face. He could only watch as his friend stooped before him with a small smile pulling at his lips. Sparrow gave a bow to Harry. It was stiff, formal and low. It was the epitome of respect.  
   
“Lord Hercules” Sparrow straightened from the bow with the words. Then and only then Sparrow went to where the hat had dictated. The members of the Gryffindor table did not look pleased at the actions that Sparrow had just taken. The clapping had long since stopped. They all looked at Sparrow with distrust and distaste as the new Gryffindor took a seat.  
   
Harry wanted to let his head fall into his palm. Wanted to feel and hear the thump as it connected. Sparrow was an idiot. The wolf  had given up his anonymity in one fell swoop. It was now obvious to everyone why Sparrow had been sent to Hogwarts.  
   
It took a minute for the hall to recover. Dumbledore was staring over his glasses. His eyes were contemplative. Harry could almost feel the cogs moving in his head.  
   
Harry looked away. He knew what the man was capable of. He didn’t know any of Tom’s secrets, didn’t think there was anything remotely resembling a confidential detail t that he could give away. Yet if there was, he didn’t want to risk it. He did not want the old coot rooting around in his head.   
   
“Prescott, Autumn.” The last name was called out. It seemed to snap everyone from their temporary shock. They looked toward the girl who stood at the front of the hall. She sat on the stool.  
   
“Hufflepuff” the words echoed around the hall as the members of the student body waited to see what would happen. No-one clapped. There was barely a breath.  
   
The girl stood from the stool. She did the same as Sparrow had done just moments before.  
   
“Lord Hercules” echoed through the room, far louder than Sparrow’s voice had seemed. She retreated to the Hufflepuff table. The members of her new house merely looked confused. Harry wasn’t surprised. He was however rather annoyed. Such idiots. Harry could see his husband’s handiwork from a mile off. This was why he had know their names. Nothing was ever simple with that man.  
   
It seemed that the newly sorted members of Hogwarts were demonstrating to student and staff alike that their allegiance to their house came second to their loyalty to Harry. Harry sighed at the thought. He was sure that this could only end badly. It put a bright red target on his back. He rubbed his eyes. Why couldn’t his life just have been normal?  
   
“I would like to welcome some new staff members, before we begin our festivities.” Dumbledore twinkled. All of him seemed to twinkle. Harry wrinkled his nose.  
   
“Rodolphus Lestrange, out new Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor and the new head of Slytherin house.” There was a rather subdued round of applause  
   
“We have our new Astronomy Professor, Alice Longbottom.” The applause was much louder this time.  
   
“Finally, our new flying apprentice, Sirius Black” Harry froze. “He will be helping with flying lessons and Quidditch matches this year.”  
   
It seemed that Harry’s life, could get even worse. His head thumped to the table. Fuck this shit.     
  

* * *

  
 Dear Mr Hercules Black  
   
It would be much appreciated if you could attend  
a meeting in my office after school today. I will be  
expecting you as soon as you have finished your  
Transfiguration class.  
   
Professor Albus Dumbledore  
   
   
Harry sighed as he finished the letter. He knew that this was coming. He had been in school for less than twenty-four hours and here he was, being ordered to see a man who was most definitely not a friend; not to be trusted. He hadn’t even had a lesson yet. This was the joke that was his life.    
   
Harry didn’t eat any more of his breakfast that morning. He couldn’t stomach it. Lessons seemed to drag and yet go far too quickly all at the same time. He really, desperately, did not want to see the Headmaster. He found himself lazily pushing around the food on his plate as dinner time came.  
   
Sparrow sat to his right, the only set of red robes in a sea of blue. Sparrow had long since finished the food on the plate. Instead the new focus had been Harry.  
   
“What you thinking about Buzz?” Sparrow smirked at Harry.  
   
Usually Harry was one to give a small smile in return and then be dragged into whatever hair-raising scheme that Sparrow had planned. This was not one of those moments. They were not in the woods anymore. Harry could not run off and expect someone to come and drag him out of his hiding place hours later.  
   
Harry paused. Maybe he could. Harry turned his head to Sparrow.  
   
“Adventures” Harry gave a small smile. It was the first one that had been on his face since that morning. A grin spread across Sparrow’s face.  
   
“You’re getting better at this.” The younger Gryffindor teased.  
   
Avoiding looking at the Slytherins that were staring, the Gryffindors that were glaring and the Ravenclaws that simply pretended that the pair did not exist, they stood up.  
   
“Let’s go” Sparrow grinned. Harry’s own smile widened as he followed after the wolf.  
   
It was three hours later, covered in mud and scratches, the sun skimming the horizon, slowly dipping lower and lower, that the pair finally returned. Their eyes were wide with excitement, their grins filled with the satisfaction of a well spent evening; the joy of youth in every movement.  Rain was dripping from black hair and the green eyes sparkled with life.  
   
The pair walked up the path, back to the school, as the rain thrummed onto the muddying ground. Their feet squelched in their soaked shoes, small sounds produced with each step. Gravel skittered beneath the sodden shoes and robes only became heavier as the rain soaked into them.  
   
As they reached the entrance to Hogwarts, the door great and looming, light splashed across the darkened doorway. Several lights illuminated the waterlogged ground behind them. Six sets of feet and six different faces. Harry stopped. Oh shit.  
   
Harry whipped his head around. There in the rain, yet remaining perfectly dry, were several annoyed and anxious looking faces. Rodolphus Lestrange looked frustrated while Flitwick and Pomfrey merely looking concerned. Slughorn, on the other hand, looked as though he may run and embrace Harry if given half the chance. That was if the smile on his face was any indication.   
   
However, in the entrance, where the doors had been pushed open, stood Headmaster Dumbledore and by his side was his husband, Tom Riddle, Lord Voldemort. The man’s face was like thunder. Harry’s teeth clenched in nervousness. His hands pulled at his sodden robes. Maybe this hadn’t been such a good idea after all.  
   
Several drying and cleaning spells later, Harry and Sparrow were sitting next to each other in the Headmaster’s office. Most of the members of the staff had retreated back to their own quarters. Harry was left with the twinkle of Dumbledore, the glare of Tom and the infatuated stare of Slughorne. Harry was beginning to feel that he either wanted to be Harry or he wanted to be married to him. Harry wasn’t sure which would be worse.

However his thoughts were turned from the rather creepy professor as the infinitely more annoying Headmaster began to speak.

“Mr Black” the Headmaster’s eyes were still twinkling, even with his serious tone.

“After your unexpected disappearance” There was a hard look in Tom’s eyes as the headmaster spoken. Harry was sure that it was directed at him.

“We felt it only appropriate to contact your…” Dumbledore paused, the tinkle brighter “family, of the situation.” Harry was feeling frustrated at the man who was lookinga t him. What right did he have to judge Harry’s life? Harry couldn’t control his own life, why should the Headmaster have any right to?

Tom was feeling equally frustrated. As well as his husband, he was feeling a lack of control. The headmaster had always made Tom feel utterly out of control. He was an orphan again, a burning wardrobe threatening his future. Oh, how he wanted to see the man doused in flames of his very own creation.

“Well Mr Black, what do you have to say for yourself?” The Headmaster attempted to seem stern and friendly all at the same time.

It was not a good combination. It put Harry on edge, more than he already was. For all of his life, Harry had been warned about the dangers of this man; the defeater of Grindlewald, the only one that could equal the Dark Lord. Harry further cemented his gaze on the floor, before he found it appropriate to make a response.

“I don’t not know…sir” Harry chanced the pause. Respect to a man his husband, or disrespect to man that could crush him with a word. He took a safe middle ground. He really had not put himself in a good situation.

“Well, Mr Black, don’t you think that you and” the man paused, his brain attempting to come up with a solution, to a rather complex solution. He settled it after around a second. The simplest solution, it seemed.

“Norton, owe myself, your professors and your husband, an explanation?” The twinkle was back in full swing.

Harry only kept his gave to the floor. He only repeated the answer that he had said mere seconds before.

“I don’t know, sir” and honestly, he really didn’t.


	15. Chapter 15

Harry left the office, around two hours later. He was feeling utterly drained, after sitting through the questioning of the Headmaster and the rather angry looks that his husband continually sent the bearded meddler.

Sparrow had left the room, around a half hour before hand, having had his head of house come and escort him. After McGonagall and Dumbledore had handed out the new Gryffindor a month’s worth of detention as well as an earlier than usual curfew, for the next two, Sparrow had been dragged back to Gryffindor house. Harry was sure that the wolf was on the verge of kicking and screaming. It was only the situation that kept the Gryffindor from making a run for it.

Harry, however, had not been so lucky. Due to his utter lack of valid responses, he was detained for far longer than his partner in crime. Harry, however, was sure that the presence of the Dark Lord was closer to the truth of the matter. In fact, the last fifteen minutes of the conversation, had devolved into little more than an adult squabbling match.   

Harry was sure that the pair were still at it now. Slughorn had left with McGonagall and Harry himself had decided to make a hasty retreat when Dumbledore had started mentioning Tom’s childhood. That was not something that Harry wanted to hear. It was not something that Tom would want Harry to hear. Therefore Harry had snuck from the room, head down, as he heard the talking increasing in volume. Harry was sure that his punishment would come later. Probably from both men.

So, Harry made his way down the stone corridors of Hogwarts, his hand running along the rough rock. Even if he was in more trouble than he had been in a long time, he still found joy in the world around him.

Magic was sparking from every crevice; from the soil to the sky. It was such a beautiful place. Harry had felt safe here. He may have been alone, he may have been shunned even. But, by the magic around him, he had always been accepted.  

Harry was so distracted by the magic that sparked across his fingers, that he didn’t notice as a set of feet clicked behind him. He only felt the roughness on the pads of his fingers. The slight pain and numbness that crept up his arm.

“Enchanting, no?”

Harry’s head quickly whipped around. For the first time in several hours, Harry looked up. There, standing behind him was none other than his husband. Harry sighed. Who else was he expecting? It seemed that at least one of his punishments was coming early.

Harry merely looked with a confused expression at the man before him. There was no point in avoiding the man’s gaze now. Tom already knew all that there was to know about him. There was no point hiding.

“The castle“

Tom was now running his fingers along the wall himself. Harry’s own hand had dropped from the ancient stone as Tom had approached.

“Always so filled with magic.“ Tom’s voice sounded rather wistful.

Harry only gave a small nod, not sure how to respond to this Tom. The man seemed rather…off. This was not an expression that he had seen on the man’s face before. He looked, younger, somehow.

However, too soon, Tom’s hand dropped from the wall and his attention turned fully to his young husband.

“Now Harry. Please explain your“ he paused “actions, this evening“  

Harry was sick of this. He’d already had the bloody Spanish Inquisition that night. He’d managed to keep it together. Tom has been there, on the room with him; so close that at times he was sure that he could hear his breathing. He couldn’t loose it in front of the man. He couldn’t loose it in front of the headmaster. It was too important. It had just been all too much.

But now. Now he’s had it. He was tired cold and fed up. Tom was here. Why the fuck was Tom here? Harry didn’t want him here. Hogwarts was his. The man had no right.

“I think, that that is none of your concern” Harry sneered.

“Excuse me?” The words were polite. The words were not. They were enough near a growl that any animal would have a right to flee.

Harry, however, was just too angry to notice. The man had come where he had no right. He had intimidated his friends and fought with his headmaster. The man should not be here. He didn’t deserve to be in the presence of such bright and beautiful magic. No right at all.

“You heard me” Harry growled, nearly as deeply as his husband. His eyes were an angry green.

Harry turned to leave. He had no patience to deal with this child of a man.

Words stopped him.

“You dare”

Eyes flickered red. Teeth were clenched. Nostrils flared. A hand shot out.

Harry soon found himself pinned to the wall. His eyes widened as he looked with fear at the man that he had been shouting at mere moments before. A hand gripped tightly onto his shoulder. Harry’s breath picked up as he felt the bruising finger tips.

“You dare.” The voice was that of a Dark Lord. It was deadly. It was threatening.   
“You belong to me Hercules. You seem to have a hard time grasping the concept.” The hand gripped even tighter.

“Maybe I need to teach you” A pause. The next word near a whisper “again”

Harry didn’t know what possessed him to do it. Would not know for the rest of the week. Would question himself. Would worry, dread even, as the weekend approached. But in that very moment it felt so very good.

He brought a hand up and before either of them could even blink Harry swung. With as much force as he could muster, the hand stingingly connected with the pale skin. The Dark Lord stumbles back. Red drained into shock as his eyes widened.

“I am not yours” Harry yelled as loud as he could. His voice was louder than the slap, that had mere moments before ricocheted off the stone walls.

“I’m not” A whisper.

Harry then stormed from the corridor without even a look back. His breath was fast and his vision was blurry. It was amazing he found his way back to his common room. It was a near miracle that he managed to despiser the password. He collapsed in bed without another thought.

Tom, on the other hand, stood frozen in the very spot that Harry had left him. It took him more than minutes to get his thoughts in order. The boy had hit him. He had really hit him! Tom could still feel the tingling on his now very red cheek.

Tom didn’t know why. Didn’t understand the emotions that bubbles within his stunted psyche. But all of a sudden a large, bearing on uncomfortable smile ripped across his face.

He couldn’t stop it. Couldn’t force his cheeks under his control. Then, with even less reason a laugh forced its way from his throat. It was vicious and grating. It would not stop. It just wouldn’t stop. It seemed endless.

It was a sure thing that that night, even the Bloody Baron was disturbed by the near insane laughter that seemed to echo through the castle. Yet no source could be found. It seemed to last until the sun came and chased the dark sound away.

* * *

It was a gloomy Wednesday and Harry felt as miserable as the weather. Today, was the day that he got the joy of a flying lesson. He got out of bed with a scowl already on his face. He would rather run into the forest with Sparrow than face the brother that was on the verge of being disowned. But Harry didn’t think that he could face his husband again. Not when the last time he had seen him was with a bright red hand print across his face. He didn’t want to see that face anytime soon.

Therefore Harry slumped down to the Great Hall to eat his breakfast, with his bag resting on his shoulder. He had double potions, followed by double flying. What joy. Harry picked at the eggs on his plate, pushing around the mushrooms. As seemed like the habit for this week, Harry was not feeling very hungry.

“What’s got you down Buzz?” Sparrow smiled as the Gryffindor robes invaded the sea of blue.

Harry glanced over at the brown hair, that was a disheveled mess on the others head.

“Potions, then Flying” Harry sighed.

“Oh.” Sparrow understood the problem. “You should just come to Defence with me. Much more interesting” the other grinned.   
  
“I wish” Harry rubbed a hand across his face. “I don’t think Tom would be too impressed”

“Ah” Sparrow grinned self deprecatingly. “Sorry about that.”

“Not your fault” Harry patted the Gryffindor on the shoulder. “Tom’s an arse”

Sparrow snorted. “Not sure the Dark Lord would appreciated being called an arse”

“Yeah” Harry smirked. “He doesn’t appreciate a slap to the face either, but here we are.”

“I’m a little worried about you going back this weekend. He might actually kill you for that.”

“We can only hope” Harry pursed his lips. “Anyway. Gotta get to class. See you at Lunch”

“Good luck” Sparrow called after Harry’s already retreating form.

Harry arrived at the potions classroom earlier than any of his classmates. That was good. He could sit at the back of the room and attempt to hide his presence from those around him. Getting out his textbook, he hid himself behind it and readied himself for a lesson with the Gryffindors.

Harry really did not what to have to deal with the red and gold striped, self important, arse holes. They all detested Harry’s very existence. But it wasn’t as though Harry had any choice in his situation.

The rest of the class filed in, some sending glares, but most merely disregarding his existence. It seemed that Harry was, as with every year so far, not going to have a partner in potions class. However if the meeting with Dumbledore was anything to go by, Slughorn would not be ignoring Harry this time.

It was mere seconds before Harry was proven right. A few sentences into his induction and Harry was already being singled out.

“Oh” Slughorn looked to the back of the classroom, in pseudo surprise. “It seems that Mr Black is without a partner.”

Slughorn looked around the room as though debating as to who he would allow the donor of working with Harry. Every member of the class looked away.

“Prewett”

Harry’s eyes squeezed shut, his body tensing. That was really not a good choice.

Gideon Prewett was the youngest member of the Prewett family, his brother being a year older than him and his sister being eleven years his senior. The rather large age gap had given the family a rather dubious reputation. Many believed that the two younger boys were the result of an affair between their mother and the much younger and rather attractive muggleborn by the name of Francis Gregory. Harry had to admit that both boys did in fact look rather similar to their suspected father.

However that hadn’t seemed to have stopped the family from spreading. Harry had heard that the oldest of the brood had already started popping out children, after marrying the only Weasley heir. She already had five of them. Harry worried for Molly Weasley’s health, with the rate that she was popping out the things.

However, no matter their family situation, Gideon had a rather valid reason to hate him. One that, for a change, centred around his own surname and not that of his husband’s. The Black family and the Prewett family had a rather…tempestuous relationship.

The Blacks had, for centuries, seen the Prewetts as a lower breed. The motto that the Blacks lived by had been disregarded by the Prewetts, as the family were not ones to take part in pure blood traditions.

Recently with their oldest daughter’s marriage to a Weasley had been the last straw. The Black family had publicly condemned the Prewetts. They had broken any lingering trade, political or familiar ties that they may have had, however small that they were. That had rather exacerbated the hatred that the Prewetts felt for them.

To make a story of long and bitter rivalry short, the two had declared themselves enemies. This was why Harry really, really, really did not want to work with the youngest Prewett. But now it seemed that he had no choice.

With a scowl that Harry could feel in his very soul, the ginger grabbed his things, moving them to the empty place next to Harry. Harry avoided the other’s gaze. He really didn’t want to have to deal with this, or him.

“Now that that’s sorted, we will be learning how to make Polyjuice potion.” Slughorn smiled. “It is a complex, but I promise, enjoyable potion. This potion will take us the first month of your school year to create and will have a rather exciting end result. The instructions are in your book. Off you go.”

Harry looked to the Prewett that sat by his side. The boy looked up at him with unhidden disgust. He had flipped to the right page in the book.

“Set up the equipment” Prewett sneered. “I’ll get the ingredients”

The rest of the lesson went in a similar vain. Harry did his half of the work, Prewett did his. It seemed that the potion was going pretty well.

However half way through the first step of the potion Harry froze. Harry had prepared one half of the ingredients, while Prewett the other. So Harry had had no opportunity to stop the impending disaster.

The fluxweed that was in Prewett’s hand was a solid dark green. That was not right. This potion needed fluxweed picked on a full moon. Such fluxweed was detected by the white stripes that ran through the green as the moonlight had danced across it. Anything other than full moon fluxweed, would cause…

Prewett dropped the fluxweed into the potion.

“Move” Harry yelled.

Without thinking Harry lunged forward and knocked the ginger to the floor.

“What do think you’re…”

Prewett was interrupted by a rather large explosion. Harry had his wand out and quickly cast a shield over the two of them, now collapsed behind the potion that started to spew its contents over the room.

Harry and Prewett watched as speckles of dark green, stew like potion, spattered onto the gold shield that Harry had created. However it didn’t last long. Slughorn may be many things, but he was not incompetent when it came to potions. The man was quick to clear up the mess that the pair had created.

“Prewett, Black, you’re okay now. Good thinking Black. Watch what you’re doing Prewett. Now get back to it. The potion isn’t going to make itself.”

Harry dropped the barrier and quickly got to his feet. Ignoring the rest of the members of the room, Harry stuck his hand out, offering it to Prewett. The boy looked at the hand. A second ticked, then another.

Finally when Harry was about to give up, the young man grabbed at the outstretched hand, pulling himself up.

“Thanks” he mumbled.

The rest of the lesson seemed to go far more successfully. However that meant that flying was inching closer and closer.

The lesson ended far too quickly and with several large smiles from Slughorn and a begrudging respectful nod from Prewett, Harry sadly made his way toward flying. He really didn’t want to see his brother. He knew this could only end badly.

As Harry approached the Quidditch field, he was relieved to see Slytherins robes littering the field. At least he would have some sort of protection here. Even if it was out of fear of his husband, rather than out of respect or loyalty. It was better than nothing.

Harry quickly stood by the row of brooms that lay on the floor. He would rather just get this lesson over with. He didn’t want to stand out more than he already did.

“Good Morning everyone”

The voice was one of Professor Connors. The man was in his fifties and was an avid fan of Quidditch. That meant that anyone who did not excel at the sport was deemed as unworthy in his eyes. Most of the lesson was based in the sport, with almost all of the exercises being done during the lesson, being done as Quidditch ones.

Harry was good at flying, yes, but he hated these exercises. Harry hated Quidditch. He really hated it. It was a waste of time. The exercises were They were a waste of time. All Harry wanted to do was fly. He didn’t want to play Quidditch, ever. Never wanted to play it again.

This class was one of the few where Harry got in trouble in. He tended to fly off from the exercises set, doing tricks by himself, or simply enjoying the air. This was not something that Professor Connors approved of. Last year Harry had ended up with months worths of detention, getting too caught up in the breeze in his hair and the sun on his skin. He had ended up flying out of the pitches and across the Black Lake without even noticing. Connors had been less than impressed.

Harry planned to be a little more law abiding this year. He wasn’t sure who the punishments would be under if he were to misstep. He didn’t want to be marshalled by his brother into an unjustified and painful experience that was justified as a punishment by the oldest Black.

“Before we begin” Mr Connors continued. Harry blinked at him. “I would like to introduce you to Professor Black, here. He will be assisting today. Treat him as you would treat me. Now, today we will be…”

Harry blocked the man out. Instead his focus was on his brother. The man had stepped forward at his name and was looking at the students with a smile. Harry had not seen his brother since the wedding and couldn’t remember the last time he had seen him smile. Harry had not really talked to his brother in years. He had spent his summers at the Potter’s house and his school years ignoring or mocking Harry.

Harry didn’t think that he had really seen Sirius, or that Sirius had seen him, in years. He had only a few happy memories with his older brother. All of those were from his childhood.

Harry, having been sick for much of his early childhood, had not really been allowed outside or to play with his brothers when he was young. It wasn’t till around seven that Harry had been deemed healthy enough to play with the others. Harry had been like a stranger, an enigma, to his brothers.

It had taken Harry three months to get anything resembling a relationship. He had played with his brothers, even if it was delicately. Sirius had taught him wizarding chess, and Regulus had taught him gobblestones. Those had been good times.

However on one long summer day, Sirius had decided that the three should go flying. It had been fun. They had played Quidditch, or at least the beginnings of it. They had played with a Quaffle, two against one. It had been great. However Harry was still not well. His immune system was weak and his body weaker still. Even in the warm weather it hadn’t take Harry long to get ill. He had caught a rather severe cold and had been stuck in bed for two weeks straight.

From what Harry had heard, Sirius and Regulus had been punished so severely that neither of them could sit down for the duration of Harry’s illness. They had never wanted to play Quidditch with him again. In fact, they had never wanted to play with him, full stop. That was when Harry had learned to start playing by himself.

The lesson seemed to progress around Harry without him really noticing. The broom was in his hand, but little to nothing of the activities registered with him. He therefore didn’t hear Connors’ calling his name. Nor did he hear the man to tell Sirius to ‘get his brother to listen to some sense’.

It was therefore a rather unpleasant shock, when Sirius appeared, right before him, his name on his lips.

“Hercules”

Harry nearly jumped out of his skin as he heard the name. The only time that anyone called him Hercules, it ended badly. Black or Harry were safe. Hercules meant pain or ridicule.

Harry took a step back from the man in front of him. His breath was fast, his pupils wide in trepidation, verging on fear. A hand went for his wand. His brain began to cloud in panic. It took him a second.

Harry blinked and then blinked again, before his breathing managed to resemble a somewhat normal rate. His hand dropped from his wand holster and his body sagged.

“Professor Black” Harry still sounded slightly breathless.

Sirius looked at Harry with a raised eyebrow. If he was anyone else, Harry would have thought that he saw concern in those eyes. But of course there was nothing even close to that in the grey orbs. It was more likely mockery that was twinkling there.

“I believe that it is your turn to fly, Her-“ Sirius stopped himself “Mr Black”

Harry didn’t even acknowledge the man. He walked past him, broom in hand. Harry looked toward the activity. How boring.

Harry was on his broom. He zipped around the course, dodging bludgers, shooting quaffles through hoops and eventually catching the rather elusive snitch. Harry finished the activity in mere seconds.   
  
Sirius and the Slytherins looked, open mouthed, as Harry finished the course; his time flashing at the top of the leaderboard. The Ravenclaws rolled their eyes. Professor Connors sighed in resignation.

Just because Harry hated Quidditch, didn’t mean that he wasn’t good at it.

* * *

Harry stood, every muscle tense as he stepped into the defence classroom for the second time that week. Professor Lestrange stood at the door way, his arm against the frame. It was a casual reminder of Harry’s entrapment. He had no where to go, no way to run. The weekend had arrived and he must return to his husband.

“Floo powder’s on the mantle” the professor spoke with casual indifference.

“I believe you have been informed of the password” Lestrange’s posture slumped even further as his feet scuffled along the floor. One foot was now crossed over the other, toes in a point on the floor.

Harry gave a small nod. As he picked up the green powder, the phantom pain of a well placed slap tingled across the skin. He shivered. He really did not want to go back. Yet, a few whispered words and a rather impressive stumble and Harry was soon collapsed on the floor of Riddle manor with a thump.

Harry picked himself up, dusting the dirt from the blue and bronze ornamented robes. He hadn’t even been given the chance to change. Harry looked around the lobby. It was blessedly empty.

After the hectic week that Harry has had he wasn’t sure that he could deal with the Dark Lord right now. What with the meddlesome headmaster, his piece of shit brother and the less than pleasant reception of he Hogwarts population, Harry just wanted to sleep.

Harry stopped. Sleep was too simple. Sleep wouldn’t let him forget. Sleep would only let his subconscious throw him into more and more humiliating situations. Harry knew what he needed to do. He needed to get drunk. So drunk in fact, that he couldn’t even remember his own name and he knew just the place to do it.

It only took Harry around twenty minutes to reach his destination. Without knocking he pushed open the door of Fenrir’s house. Doing a quick surveillance, Harry determined that the wolf was not there. No matter. Harry knew where the wolf kept the good stuff.

Pulling open the bottom cupboard in the small kitchen, Harry grabbed a bottle of fire whiskey that sat there. Dusting off his knees, Harry didn’t even bother with a glass, as he plopped down on the sofa. Harry pulled off the cap and then took several large gulps of the burning liquid. He then leaned back into the comfort of the sofa with a satisfied sigh. He was finally alone.

Fenrir found the young man, two hours later, with a nearly empty bottle of fire whiskey balanced precariously in his lap.

“Harry?” the wolf questioned as he walked through the door. He looked, with confusion and slight concern at the small figure.

The boy looked up at him with a bleary eyes. However as he saw who it was at the door, a big dopey grin spread itself across his face.

“Fenny-Fen-Fenrir” the boy grinned. His eyes were blinking quickly and his head swayed from side to side, as he looked at the wolf.

“Good evening to you too, Harry” Fenrir grinned at the evidently intoxicated boy.

“Come” Harry shouted excitedly. He then burst out into a rather large laugh. He remained Fenrir of an over excited toddler.

“Sit down with me Fen” the words were slurred, but the smile was happy.

Fenrir couldn’t resist Harry’s demands, even when the boy was throughly intoxicated. He smiled.

“Okay Harry”

Fenrir plopped down onto the sofa, next to the young man. He gave a small smile.

Harry immediately leant into Fenrir’s chest. His head rested over the wolf’s heart. His hand came up next to the black mop of hair and griped tightly against the material.

“I missed you Fen” Harry slurred into the fabric.

“It’s only been a week Harry” the silver haired wolf laughed.

“Too long Fenrir. Thats too long.” The voice was muffled.

“Okay Harry”

Fenrir lifted his hand. He gently ran it through the messy black hair.

“What’s got you drinking like this Harry?”

Harry huffed into the grey material of Fenrir’s shirt. He griped tighter.

“Don’t wanna talk about it” the voice was barely audible.

“And your week?”

“Don’t wanna talk about that either?”

Fenrir gave a rather defeated smile. It seemed he’d not be getting much out of Harry tonight. A safe topic, it seemed, was on the table.

“How’s Sparrow? The kids were asking.”

That was something that Harry could talk about. Harry sat up. Bottle still clutched in has hand. Between more sips of fire whisky, Harry gave Fenrir the low down on the week with the new Gryffindor.

A few sentences in, Fenrir decided that enough alcohol was enough. Harry should really stop.

“I think you’ve had enough Harry.” Fenrir grabbed the bottle from the limp fingers. He quickly set it down on the table beside him; just out Harry’s reach.

“Nooooo” Harry moaned, stopping midway through his ramble. “Give it back Fenrir”

Harry pouted in what was supposed to be anger. However on the young man, it looked nothing more than a cute pout.

“No Harry” Fenrir gave a small smile.

“I want it Fen”

Fenrir only shook his head

“I want to Fen”

This time Fenrir ignored the young man, draped over him.

“What do you want for it Fen?”

Fenrir raised an eyebrow at the young man, who was now looking him directly in the eye.

“I don’t want anything, Harry. You’ve had enough.”

However, Fenrir froze, as Harry suddenly and inexplicable climbed on top of him. His legs were either side of Fenrir’s and his hands were tightly grasped in the material of his shirt.

Fenrir’s brain seemed to short circuit as the young man stared directly into his eyes.

“Are you sure?”

It was only a second after the whispered words, that the lips were quickly on his. They were hot and soft. One of Harry’s hand gripped the shirt tighter and the other grasped in the silver hair. Harry pulled Fenrir’s head closer. His lips were demanding, verging on desperate.

Fenrir seemed to snap out of his daze. He tried to pull back. Harry wouldn’t let him.

Fenrir couldn’t do this. Not like this. Not with Harry.

Fenrir’s hands quickly came to rest on Harry’s shoulder. With a light push, the lips were removed from his.

Harry’s eyes opened at the interruption. He moved to lean once more into the lips of the man before him.

“Harry” Fenrir barked, rather more harshly than he had meant to. The green eyes blinked in drunken confusion.

“Harry, you need to go to bed.”

Harry didn’t quite seem to comprehend the words. He merely blinked a few times in confusion. Fenrir sighed.

Fenrir scooped up the young man into his arms. He gently set the young man onto his own bed. He pulled of the shoes that were still on Harry’s feet. The young man only looked in Fenrir’s direction with a puzzled frown.

“Fenrir” Harry mumbled.

“Sleep, Harry”

Harry gave a small nod before his eyes quickly drooped into a drunken sleep. It seemed to take less than a second. Wow, the kid was really drunk. Fenrir did not want to be Harry in the morning.

Pulling off his own boots and jeans, Fenrir grabbed a blanket from the wardrobe. It seemed that he was seeing on the sofa tonight. 


End file.
